Looking After Our Own
by ShadowOfHapiness
Summary: When the organization called "Underworld" threatens home security, CIA officer Emma Swan is paired up with MI-5 agent Killian Jones to get to the core of the hazard. Thinking that the over-confident spy was the worst of the matter was definitely an understatement however, as Emma discovers when the case turns into a nightmare, with a possible traitor lurking in their own system.
1. Security Breach

**So screw me and my other stories, I seem to be starting yet another 'fic. I probably shouldn't but eh, I guess inspiration has other plans.**

 **Hopefully it's not too bad, it's my first step into the Once fandom! :)**

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That this had been a grueling day for her would have been a vast understatement, Regina reflected as she carefully shrugged off her tailored grey jacket and hung it up on the hanger by the door before stepping out of the pain-inducing high heeled sophisticated shoes her job required. If she were honest, she didn't think anyone should be kept in an office once the eight o'clock mark had come to pass, but alas, when the important paperwork required attention, she often found herself to be the one having to see to it and stay the extra hour or two given that she was the one qualified to both tread with and organize such important notes (the other secretary, Aurora, had tried once, and the office had made it quite clear that it was better that she never touch the files again).

Most days, Regina didn't mind. After all, the workplace itself was usually rather quiet and uneventful, and the peace and solitude of typing away, keeping accounts or seeing to the occasional hotel reservation in her own personal little alcove brought to her was not something many jobs had to offer.

Today, of course, had not been one of those days. And between having to classify Eric's flight to Argentina and seeing to the payment of Milah's speeding fine, it had been a near ten-hours since she'd had the opportunity to really sit down and take the chance to breathe a little, and once the front door closed behind her, Regina didn't even think that an emergency call saying that the nation was under imminent attack would be enough to get her to leave the house, which was saying something about how drained she was.

Shoes off and leather bag tossed carelessly on the table, she had been about to see to dinner for herself given that she had not yet had the opportunity to have anything much during the day when the all-too comfy-looking sofa made her change her mind at the last minute, and opting to have dinner later, she flopped down and sank into the designer leather couch.

It did wonders to her sore back and the gentle support it offered to her exhausted body was more than welcome, and she might have fallen asleep right there and then had it not been for Robin's quiet approach, a small plate of what must have been the share of the evening's meal he'd set aside for her for once she came back in his hand. It might have been a small, almost insignificant, gesture to anybody else, but it meant a lot to her knowing she could now simply relax in front of their TV without having to worry about paperwork and flight bookings.

"So, what kept you so long? Not another pompous hotel manager I hope?" He asked as he sat down, reaching for the remote control for their flat television screen and flicking the device on and turning down the sound before resting it back on the arm of the couch.

Regina scoffed, remembering all too well how last week's potential Chinese client had been especially grueling in his demands for luxuries and "little daily comforts" as he put them –what a joke. Why she had been the one assigned to seeing to his coming over, she still had no clue, but she was definitely going to have a word with Aurora about that one, pretty sure the other brunette secretary had just shoved the responsibility of looking after the picky client onto her shoulders because she hadn't wanted to deal with the hassle it would entail for her –not that she could entirely blame her for that.

"No, just paperwork, typing, phone calls and files, the usual really." For all that he might not look like the type, Robin's cooking was actually quite good, and his carbonara always delivered, even if it was a re-heated plate hours after the initial serving.

Leaning into him as he sat down next to her, the two shared the bowl in a companionable silence, the low sound coming from the TV a pleasant backdrop as they took the time to appreciate the meal itself. It was still something Regina was finding hard to get used to (but that she liked a lot none the less), the slow pace of a life at home, what with having spent almost seven years as a CIA agent and then quitting for a far more simpler job as a secretary. Granted, it was a lot less risky, especially since she'd decided to have a family of her own, but some days really had her wondering whether leaving her former post as an agent was well truly worth it. Today was definitely one of those days.

Well, putting a final end to what had been a glowing career _was_ a bit of a strong word, if she really took the time to truly think about it. Truth be told, she was still in the business a little, given that her ex-superior had asked her to keep contact with a few of their assets, but it had been months now with nothing exceptional to report, and her life had just become calm and relatively peaceful despite the occasional loaded schedules, and almost what any ordinary person would have called normal. She was married, had a job and a lovely little girl sleeping in her white laced-cot in the room right above them, and Regina could not hope to be happier.

"How was the baby, she go to sleep all right?" She asked, setting the plate back down onto the glass coffee table before leaning into Robin's side, arms circling around his waist in an attempt to make up for whatever closeness they'd missed out during the day because of her impromptu delay at the office.

"It took a while this time, she probably misses her mother. You're better at doing all of this looking-after-the-baby-stuff than I am." He added, the knowing smile and light-hearted comment almost erasing the fatigue the day had kept heaping on her mercilessly. True, since the company had requested that she work overtime, Robin had taken to coming home earlier to look after their child, and while Regina was certain he put all of his heart into it, he still seemed to be in need of a little help here and there–if only she could manage to come back a little sooner, then she would be sure to make the most out of the time she had to spend with her family, and teach Robin that looking after their daughter was nothing to be anxious about.

"I promise I'll try to get back a little earlier tomorrow. And if I'm told to stay, well I'm half inclined to just wait until Aurora turns to her screen and list of flights for the upcoming week and sneak out the back door, I'd be willing to bet that nobody will notice. I have a wonderful daughter whom I do not wish to be parted from for too long in the day and a perfect husband with whom I pledged to live my life, I don't want to be spending my days working until impossible hours in an office if it means I'll be missing out on those wonders." She whispered, leaning forward to twirl another string of pasta around her fork.

As it happened almost every time she had the chance of having a meal at home, Regina found herself blessing her stars for finding a husband with such good cooking skills as the spiced pasta and perfectly cooked meat delivered an array of wonderful flavours once they hit her tongue. It wasn't something Robin often prided himself in, rather, he was more often than not embarrassed that his best skills lay in preparing meals and putting together dishes made from fish and spinach, but Regina knew she wouldn't have it any other way. Robin maybe wasn't the most extraordinary man out there, but his cooking skills were definitely something she'd learnt to appreciate over the years after they'd married, especially when he happened to have something ready for her on those late nights such as these, when she would come home too tired to make anything herself and have something so wonderful just waiting there for her once she passed the threshold of their home.

"Thank you, it's lovely." She managed to offer between two bites and flicking her gaze to the silent TV.

Sometimes, she really hated her job, feeling like much too big a weight was being put on her shoulders when her colleagues requested that she see to too many things at once, never taking the time to actually see the struggle she went through behind the position she held. Robin did though, for to him, she was Regina, not Madam Hood or "the strict-looking secretary for Hamelin INC", she was above all his loving wife, and coming home to someone who let her know how much he cared about her when spending the day at the mercy of ungrateful clients and prissy hotel-managers was the best welcome anyone could hope to give her.

"Difficult day then, I guess, huh?" Casually, his hand rubbed her aching shoulders soothingly, easing away the tension of the day little by little, and it was rather frightening how, all of a sudden, Regina felt her legs turn to jelly as whatever exhaustion she'd been pushing back for the past few hours crept back out of the shadows where it had hidden itself, almost making it feel like a chore to simply lift the light inox fork.

"If by difficult you mean a Chinese client making specific requests as to have an exceptionally costly hotel, what probably amounts to more than we ought to spend on fine wine bottles for him every-day, luxurious transport and a first class office in our building, then yes, I'd wager that he was quite difficult." She huffed in annoyance, not meaning to be snappish but needing to vent out her frustration with their overseas guest somehow.

Although the initial anger she'd been harboring towards their esteemed eastern-liaison soon evaporated when Robin began to massage her shoulders gently, helping the pent-up anger to evaporate and her tired bones to finally get the rest and attention they deserved and let go of any tension that might still be seeking to nestle itself in there.

"Just, let it go for tonight. Forget about it and try and think about better things. That carbonara for example, I'm pretty sure Roland would have rather ate it with you when you came back, but it was getting late and… "

"All right, all right, I get it." She said good naturedly, understanding where he was coming from. Truth was, thinking about the awful day wasn't going to do much to improve her moral right now, especially since Regina knew there was little she could do to change things, and instead of dwelling on it, she opted to curl up on the sofa, pulling over half of the blanket Robin had nicely tucked around the two of them, earning a cry of protest from her husband. Maybe he usually was an upstanding sportswear company manager, but only she knew how get that childish cheek out of him, and Regina knew she would be lying to herself if she were to admit that she didn't enjoy it.

Battling for who got the most of the cover eventually resulted in Robin offering her his chest to lean back into, his arms coming around her and the blanket safely tucked around the both of them, which wasn't too bad a result, given that she was getting abroad and sturdy man to lean into, and no way was Regina ever going to complain about that.

All tension gone, it was quite relaxing to be able to make the most of the movie currently screening on whatever channel Robin had been watching earlier, and the fact that she was, for once, ranted the opportunity to share such a tender moment with him was like heaven. Regina had only very rarely gotten the time to share a casual moment with her family since the whole talk about the Chinese clients had erupted at work, and in a way, she understood how much their investment was crucial to her company so anything to keep them on negotiating terms was necessary, but it also entailed that she spend less time with those she loved, and it was only now, wrapped in her husband's embrace that she truly realized what it was she had been missing out on for the last while.

"Once those pesky Chinese are gone, I'm definitely not staying once closing hour comes around." She muttered, the attempt to make it a bold statement thrown off by the way Robin looked down at her, one eyebrow raised in skepticism as a goofish grin played across his face, knowing better than to expect his wife to go against the decisions of her manager.

"Sure."

"I'm serious!" Regina argued petulantly, gently tapping his forearm and crossing her own as to re-enforce the boldness of her statement. "I'm pretty sure Aurora could deal with all this perfectly –actually, I think I might even let her see to our next Russian clients all by herself, given how she dumped me with the responsibility this time around." She added in a conspicuous tone, wide grin breaking on her face as Robin just shuffled her hair and brought her back to his chest, arms hugging her once again.

"Looking forward to see how that turns out." Robin assured quietly as he was about to drop his head onto her shoulder.

Of course, at that precise moment, Regina's mobile phone chose to go off in her pocket, disturbing the quiet peace the two had been enwrapped in, and the brunette almost wanted to roll her eyes at how the day seemed to be doing literally everything within it's power to make her regret ever stepping out of her bed that morning.

Sighing, she slid her hand down to the small pocket slit at the top of her skirt, pulling the ringing device out and had been about to bring it up to her ear when she felt her husband's hand on her wrist, gripping it gently so as to make her unable to take the call.

"Can't you leave it?" He asked, eyes wide and pleading, and for a moment, Regina almost wanted to indulge him, let whoever was calling deal with the fact that she wasn't going to pick up so she might finally have the chance to fully relax and actually enjoy being at home and free from work for a short while, but sparing a quick glance down at the caller's ID, she knew she had to take this.

"Sorry Robin, I really can't pass this one up I'm afraid. But I'll be right back, I promise." She said as she stood, up, stealing a kiss on his nose before skipping to the kitchen, knowing it was in Robin's best interests that he get no wind of anything she might say in the next couple of minutes.

At the third ring, she swiped her finger across the screen, effectively answering the call and brought the device to her ear. "Queen."

There was a shuffling sound on the other end of the line, that she was pretty much sure she could hear, along with a distinct panting and… Were those actual _gunshots sounds_ she thought she could make out in the background?

"Agent Humbert?" She asked, more urgently, still trying to keep herself under control, knowing it would do no good for her to panic now, not if she wanted to avoid Robin getting wind of any of this. The less he knew, the safer he'd be.

When still no answer came, Regina felt her hand clenching around the device, the relaxed and peaceful atmosphere she'd been basking in only moments ago dissolving into something tense and hard, pressuring her down and making her heartbeat soar. "Agent Queen , Humbert, come in."

She took a deep breath, reminding herself to stay focused and make this brief, to not worry or betray any hint of emotion (not when there were potential civilian casualties in the room right next to her).

There was a cough again –a _wet_ one, if Regina's ears were not deceiving her, and the shiver that ran up her spine was definitely _not_ due to the cold- and more grunting as Humbert kept up his running pace before she felt him bring the phone back up to his ear.

" _Humbert! It's Humbert! You have to pull me out!"_ And even a novice in her line of work would detect the note panic in his voice. _Damn, keep it cool, Regina, it'll be okay._

"You need to calm down, Humbert." _Deep breath, it'll be fine, he's okay, he'll live._ "Tell me where you are, talk to me."

But despite her best efforts to keep her tone cool and as docile as she could make it, the man on the other side of the phone seemed to be sent into hysterics as she could still hear him panting as he kept up his pace, and when he coughed the next time, expelling something wet, Regina didn't need to think very hard to know what exactly it was he'd expelled. She'd spent enough time in a similar job to know.

"Humbert, say something!" She hissed into the speaker, desperate now for him to answer without having to raise her voice, any more and Robin would be sure to barge in, worry and concern for her etched onto his face, and while she appreciated everything he did for her, this was not something he could _ever_ get wind of.

" _They know! Hearts knows I'm not a dealer, they know!"_

 _Hearts?_ _Who was Hearts?_ She had to know, this was new information, and she needed to know more about it, _right_ _now._

"Agent Humbert, who is Hearts? Talk to me!"

Her knuckles had gone beyond white as she gripped the phone tightly, afraid that if she let her grip loosen even a little, she might lose precious information. Standing there against the counter, biting her lip as anxiety was quick to course through her body, Regina waited, hoping for the agent to make it out all right and to hurriedly tell her everything.

Anxiety wasn't something she was overly familiar with anymore, not since she'd been in the field years ago. Her simple job as a secretary, while often hard to deal with and stressful in its own rights, had never managed to reach the heights of what she could recall feeling when she'd be anxiously waiting to meet her first assets, back in the time when her days were filled with adrenalin drops and secret meetings Nolan would send her to, and the new wave of it she could feel rising in the pits of her stomach were most definitely _not_ welcome.

Steeling herself against the rush of emotions, knowing reminding herself that _she_ was the one in control, Regina gripped the phone tighter, bringing it impossibly close to her ear once again.

"Hold on Humbert, you need you calm down-"

" _They know!"_ Was the terrified answer that cut what she'd been about to say. _"You have to pull me out, they-!"_

Whatever reassurance Regina might have been able to come up with went to waste as the very distinct sound of a gunshot echoed through the phone before a clatter resonated sharply in her ear, causing her to pull the device away slightly and wince as the pain traveled through her head. She leaned back onto the table, anxiously waiting for the agent to contact her again, but as the seconds passed and still the line was broken, what she'd been trying to deny became increasingly apparent, and it was only when Robin's worried face appeared through the doorway of the kitchen that what had actually transpired fully dawned on her like a ton of bricks. And it was not pleasant.

"Regina?" There it was again, the worried apprehension in his voice that made her long to be able to tell him everything, let him in on the details and horror of what had just happened and let him comfort her like only he knew so well how to do. And she'd been about to do it, spill everything and let him find the words she needed to feel better, only the knowledge of the danger he'd be in if she ever came to know everything made her stop. She couldn't risk him –her family, their child-, not in a thousand years.

"Regina, are you all right?" He asked, even more hesitant now as he knelt down in front of her, a tentative hand coming up to stroke the side of her face, a hand she immediately grabbed so as to anchor herself in reality, to remind herself that she was still here, okay, _alive_.

If she'd paid more attention, Regina might have noticed that her hand was shaking.

"Please, tell me what's wrong."

The crease in his brow, the earnest way with which he looked at her, begging to be let in, had Regina falter, wishing she could do just that, and it was only with great pain that she shook her head no, that she couldn't do this to him, to the man she loved with all her heart.

This was precisely why she'd quit the job, why she'd left the secret service after meeting him. She knew of the difficulty between the duty and the heart, knew how one could not mix with the other in such a line of work, but meeting Robin, that had changed everything, and it had taken Regina very little time to know that whatever they became, that she could never lie to him. Which was why she was finding it so excruciatingly difficult to have to close herself off to him now.

"I'll be okay, I promise." _Give it a few days, Regina, everything will go back to normal, that isn't your life anymore._

"Thank you." She offered him a watery smile before kissing him on the cheek in an attempt to make him believe that everything truly was all right (which it wasn't, but he couldn't know that). "Mind if I take a moment alone? I'll come back to join you with a mug of coffee or something –just, give me a few minutes, I'll be right back. Need to make a call." She tried to make it sound casual, use skills she'd long since put to rest to convince him that it was the truth. Whether he truly believed her or simply decided to let her have her way, she wasn't sure, but she was grateful when Robin turned back towards the living room with no further questions, taking her up on her offer for a warm mug of something strong.

She sighed, taking a few moments to lean her exhausted body against the counter before picking up her mobile phone again, tapping the contact icon and flicking through the names until the long-since disused number and name appeared in bright bold letters.

Regina took a few moments to compose herself, remind herself of who she was about to talk to and how she ought to be in her right state of mind when speaking, not an emotional wreck before bringing the device to her ear, the ominous ringing as it called the number she'd just inserted making her stomach twist uncomfortably. It had been a long time since she'd made contact, even longer since she'd had to call for such an emergency such as this one, and she wasn't liking any second of it.

Eventually, there was a rustling sound at the other end of the line as a strong male voice took up the call:

" _Nolan. Who am I speaking to?"_

"Ex Agent Queen. We've got a big problem."


	2. Divided We Fall

**Just a bit of angst here. Brace yourselves, there'll be lots more coming.**

* * *

David Nolan held the phone in his hand, with a grip that was probably tighter than necessary if his white knuckles were anything to go by.

"Are you sure?" The hint of trepidation in his voice was something he would have much rather done without, especially given that he was supposed to embody an image of leadership and strength, being at the head of the American CIA, but the information he was getting was so sudden and so full of dreaded consequences that he couldn't stop himself from losing a tiny bit of his composure right then.

This was an operation whose organization he'd been involved in himself, given how important it was and how the information they were set on retrieving was essential. He and the few agents he'd let in on it had planned it all out, from the start right to the point where agent Humbert would be set to pass between the pods of the offices once his return to America was scheduled. They'd taken in every possibility, every risk, and with that in mind, despite the danger, David had thought (or hoped, at the very least, which was something he usually liked to have when conducting an operation of such magnitude), that everything would run smoothly from thereon, after convincing himself that there was no better preparation he could make, why should he believe that this operation would fail? (Then again, David Nolan and his wife were known throughout the security service world to be impossibly optimistic, even in the direst of circumstances).

That he was getting the sudden news that Humbert was now dead could only have one implication, one that he had certainly not hoped for or been counting on. This operation of his had been extremely well planned-out, he was certain that nobody outside the world of the secret services had ever had the faintest hint as to what it was they were up to, and with Graham now dead, there was little doubt left as to what it was that had transpired. Someone had been on to the whole planning, someone _knew_ they had been onto Underworld before Humbert had even set foot into the gang he was supposed to go undercover into earlier that night. Someone had obviously sold him out before the sliding doors of the sleek-looking CIA headquarters building itself, someone who obviously must have had access to their information on the operation without him ever being aware of it.

And someone who had access to that level of secrecy was obviously a very serious threat to his service and countless other lives he was sworn to protect.

" _Positive. Agent Humbert was one of the best, he wouldn't lie."_

Queen's reply was taut, to the point and brief, just like it had always been, even when she'd been back in the field, and David was glad to see that old habits seemed to die hard –it had been one of the skills that had made her a very good agent in the first place. And with that, he knew there was little else he could do but take her words for the honest truth, that they did indeed have a big problem on their hands and that he'd just lost one of his new young recruits. On a personal level, David might not have been on the best of terms with Madam Hood, not one for constant sarcasm or witty retorts, but he had to admit that she had been a damn fine agent while she'd been under his wing all those years ago, and that, despite whatever personal feelings he held towards her and her towards him, Regina had always been dedicated and done her job to the very best of her ability above all else.

With a sigh, he leaned back in his desk chair, not for the first time glad he could actually sink into it in times like these, when the weight of the world threatened to crush him under its pressure and he could just imagine himself hiding away from it in the cold leather beneath his body. He rubbed at his sore eyes, which still stung after spending too much time focused on his screen skimming through his countless emails, and were now letting him know that the sleep deprivation he was putting them under was not appreciated, knowing he would rather not be dealing with an issue such as this one at this hour.

It was long passed half ten, and the only reason David had not left for the night himself was because he had files to sort out on his own monitor (otherwise, he and Mary-Margaret would probably have left eons ago) and it had taken quite a bit of time for him to get the reports on the device up to date.

If he were completely honest with himself, he really did not wish to have to deal with an issue as important as the one Queen had just informed him of at this hour, but given that it was just that _–important-_ there was no way he could allow himself, as head of his country's security service, to simply brush it off and tell himself that he'd see to it tomorrow.

Not when it involved Operation Shepherd.

Operational fiascos were to be expected in his line of work, the occasional wrong turn had happened countless times before and David had usually done relatively well help his service and team recuperate from them, they were bound to happen at some point or another and he knew how to deal with them. But from what Queen was saying, this wasn't simply a mistake from Humbert's (granted, had been a young agent, eager to go out on the field and prove himself yet still polite and never overbearing –from what he'd heard of him at any rate-, there was the tiniest chance he _might_ have made a mistake which had ended up selling him out, but David doubted that that was what had happened quite strongly). He could still picture it, how he had sat up straight at his desk, the young agent right across from him, stern features and rigid body alert as he'd explained the very real danger he was about to put himself into by accepting Operation Shepheard. Humbert had understood the implications of what he'd said, knew of how dangerous what he had been about to attempt was, there was no way in David's brain that his death could be related to a mistake from his part.

And judging by what Queen had just told him, he was right.

"All right." He said brusquely, knowing better than to lose himself in the thousands of different scenarios Humbert's operation could have played out had he not died. "Thank you for the heads up, we'll take it from here. Stay safe, we might need you in the upcoming weeks, although I promise to try and limit your implication."

And with a quick note of gratitude at the other end of the line, he disconnected, not wanting to dwell on what had happened with Regina, which would ultimately keep her apart from her family, a family she would probably need to help shake off the initial shock of the turn of events.

Quietly, David placed the phone back on its stand, on the left side of his computer monitor where it inserted itself into the black framework with a little click before he leaned back into his desk chair, sighing deeply and bringing his hand to his forehead in an attempt to wipe away the headache he could feel blossoming there.

 _What a mess,_ he thought grimly, _just when he'd been sure the CIA was on to their target, of course something like this would happen._ Not only had he lost a potential link to Underworld they might have had, but now he also had to deal with the very real possibility that someone in the security services might sell any of them out to the group at any moment. And here he'd been hoping to have an uneventful evening spent classifying his reports… It would seem like that would unfortunately have to wait for another day. Not that David really knew what to do at the moment, the news that he'd lost his agent still numbing most of his senses (apart from the long cord of guilt, of course that one horrible emotion _was_ the one he simply _had_ to deal with right now, wasn't it?), and what had been a dangerous operation he'd still been optimistic about only hours before was now turning into a nightmare he didn't want to have to face right now.

Luckily enough for him, Fate seemed to have decided to grant him a small dose of respite, for a while at least, when the soft knocking on his office door alerted him to Mary Margaret entering, his wife carrying what could only be described as a very-much needed cup of coffee in her hand (David guessed he would probably need more of them if he was to see to this mess over the night, but this was nice for starters).

"David? Everything all right?"

Well maybe the cup of coffee wouldn't be so heavenly after all, his wife's concern definitely leaving no room for him to lie (besides, it was bad form to lie in his line of work anyway, and David knew Mary-Margaret would be able to read right through him anyway).

Looking back up towards her, he took a sip from the mug first, enjoying the way the hot liquid did wonders to his sore throat, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through his chest and momentarily putting Queen's information out of his mind as he hummed his thanks. But of course, his wife wasn't one to be fooled, especially not by the likes of him after several years of marriage, she knew him too well, and even when he tried to hide behind the mug, hoping to conceal his worry over the way their case had turned out, Mary Margaret was too smart, and with a hand on her hip and that haughty look she sometimes resorted too when she felt the need to pry certain bits of information out of him, she stood back up to her full height.

"David, I know when you're hiding something from me." And what had begun as a command turned into a plea when her eyebrows crinkled up, apprehension and a slight degree of fear, as if she already knew she ought to dread the answer, crept upon her delicate face. "What happened?"

And with the way she sat down on the side of his desk, David knew he certainly wasn't going to be able to make her leave without telling her everything first. He knew keeping information from her was wrong of him, that it went against their work ethic and how they had always promised that in regards to their job, any information would be immediately shared with the other, but at the same time he found himself wondering, was it really that wrong for him to want to spare her the pain she would undoubtedly go through if she knew?

Her small hand in his however –firm, strong, anchoring him here with her- had him realize that, if anything, he couldn't bring himself to lie to her, not Mary-Margaret, whom he knew would never deserve it from him. With yet another deep sigh (or was it a yawn? It was hard to tell at this hour, and David did feel like his reunion with his bed that night would be a wonderful encounter when it happened) he leaned back in his chair and looked at her directly in the eyes, wanting to make sure that, above anything else, she believed him.

"Operation Shepherd is down. I just got a call from one of my assets telling me that agent Humbert is dead, his cover was blown."

The heavy silence that fell in the room felt incredibly oppressive as it weighed down on his shoulders in the wake of his words, his wife's eyes blows wide and mouth hanging open, the full comprehension of what this meant for them slowly dawning on her.

"Wait, wh-what?" She blinked several times while shaking her head, as if doing so would make the whole thing fake, a lie Mary Margaret would deem in very poor taste. But, like the adult she was, David saw her take in the information, saw how her brow then creased with sorrow and how her now downcast eyes seemed to glass over as the news fully hit her. She might have been head of the CIA along his side, a partner of sorts for their job as well as their private life, but where David had long ago sacrificed a lot of his ability to openly empathize and express his mourning of his past colleagues, Mary Margaret had managed to somehow retain that part of her that still capable of displaying how she felt to the world. She always made it her job to get close to her agents, get to know them, make them feel welcome in their job and always remembered to express how much she appreciated everything they did in the name of the values they defended as members of the CIA (that, while the concepts they were fighting for may not be able to sow them their gratitude, she still could), and on the one hand, David really admired her for that. Of course, the downside was that when they lost someone, it always took more of a toll on her despite his support, and Graham Humbert had been a charming young man –polite, down to earth and practical- she had really placed high expectations on and had hoped to see have a long and successful career. Only he would never ever get to do that now.

Sniffling slightly, knowing that now was not the time to dissolve into an emotional wreck, Mary Margaret straightened her back and stood tall in front of her husband, the reminder that duty always came before whatever personal hurts she might be dealing with in an attempt to show him that she would stand by him in all of this.

"Should we tell-?" She began hesitantly, knowing that condolences to his family were in order (not that it would make up for their pain in any way but as her only means to pay her respects to the young agent, she was inclined to break the news to them herself if the need ever arose), but before she could finish, David's computer emitted the distinctive _'bing'_ sound it always did when an incoming message for him arrived, and quickly setting aside any hurts she might be feeling, Mary Margaret focused on letting her husband know she would be there for him in whatever task they might have to see to now with the incoming message.

David brought a hand to his mouse, scrolling though his email box until he found the bolded message he'd just received, pausing his cursor over it for a moment when the unread electronic mail appeared to be from an anonymous source with no specific subject to it either. Gulping, he turned to Mary Margaret for a moment, seeking her support for them to continue before clicking it open.

The email itself was blank, and David couldn't decide whether he was to take it as a good sign or rather as something to worry about, but his marriage to Mary Margaret having helped him develop an unhealthy dose of faith (or so his colleagues sometimes said), he carefully moved the mouse to the attachment on the top right hand side and clicked on it, knowing there was little else he could do. It took a moment for the file to load, probably due to the poor connection his office sometimes had at late hours like these, but being the patient man he was, David waited for it to open with baited breath.

It was Mary Margaret who lost her composure first when the image flashed on his screen, gasping and turning away from it almost immediately, as if doing so would help her erase the burnt image now imbedded on her eyes while David could only sit there, shoulders slumped and mouth almost hanging open as he took in the gruesome sight.

The agent on the photo was unmistakable –middle-aged man, brown hair parted to the side, scruffy beard, his heart flipped as he took in what remained of agent Humbert, and the head of the CIA really had to try hard to keep control of his shaking hands, for what had been done to the young man was definitely _not_ helping. That he had been brutalized before death was evident, as the many gashes marring his face and the remains of bruises on his neckline attested to, and as David's eyes trailed over the corpse, he had to admit that it made him physically ill that his orders had brought such a brutal treatment (and death) to his once promising field officer.

The main problem, though, did not lay with Graham's body unfortunately. While David would have much rather spent his time organizing a proper memorial service for the dedicated man, the small note beside his head was what made his stomach drop and cold sweat break out on his forehead.

Much like the photograph, it was simple, plain, written in black ink and, more importantly, went straight to the point.

 _We know._

 _H._

It took a moment for it to fully sink in, a blissful moment David sought refuge in, for those few seconds were, for him at least, the only chance he'd ever have at finding refuge in not fully understanding yet. As long as the nail hadn't been driven in, David clung to the light-headed feeling the shock had brought on to him, finding solace in not having to deal with the implication right at that moment.

"They knew we were on to them." Mary Margaret's defeated voice was the claw dragging him back into this nightmarish reality, and while David would have much rather remain safe in his wonderful inner-world of ignorance (because, as they say, ignorance is bliss, and he would have wholeheartedly agreed at that moment), he had a duty to do, and his wife's tiny statement hammered in the fact that they now had a _very_ serious problem to deal with.

Saying it aloud made it all the worse for her, because it meant that they had sent Humbert out for nothing, that he had been doomed even before she and her husband had directed him to the location, and it made her insides twist when she remembered encouraging Graham to go out, saying it would be a first experience for him and that if he was careful, it would be fine. It simply wasn't in her nature to be a pessimist, it never had been, and Mary Margaret had never taken such a terrible turn of events into consideration –some might have called her out on her unhealthy dose of faith in the preferable outcome, but it was simply how she worked, how she got by every day with the hope that she was doing some good in this world.

Maybe this time she ought to have been a little more realistic.

David seemed to be, for when she looked at him again, his eyes had flickered away from the monitor to the pile of folders on the side of his desk, and knowing her husband and how he thought things out, she immediately stepped in front of them, hiding them from his view and well-intent to _shut that stupid idea of his down_ before it even had the chance to blossom.

"I know what you're thinking David, but _no,_ I'm not about to let you do _can't_ risk sending another agent in there undercover, it's way too dangerous."

For a moment it seemed like he wanted to argue, his features creasing as if he felt affronted with her shutting down his blossoming plan, but whatever he might chose to say to rebuff her, Mary Margaret's foot was firmly put down. She was most certainly _not_ about to let any other agent of theirs get even close to the possibility of such a terrible fate befalling them too..

"But how do you suggest we get to them then?!" Had he not been so overly tired and extremely worried for the safety of his agency, David's voice probably wouldn't have sounded like the tone he used when crying out in outrage, but this wasn't any normal situation, this was definitely a matter that was now putting all of his agents at risk, and as director, it was his duty to do anything to bring Underworld down before they caused any more casualties. Once corpse maimed to the point Humbert's was was more than enough for him, he didn't thin he'd be able to stomach another. "Humbert was the closest we ever got Underworld so far since they've popped up on American soil. What they've done to him, they'll certainly do again, don't think for a moment they'll just stop at that. I can't risk the lives of other agents simply because they threaten all of us. It's not what we do here, in the CIA." And that was a decision he would stand by firmly, as long as his service was threatened, he would not bow down to their possible oppressor until they were fully dealt with.

Mary Margaret, for her part, sighed, partly because she was simply exhausted (because it was far past closing hours and the lack of sleep she'd had over the past few days was quickly catching up with her), partly out of frustration with her stubborn husband –she loved him, but sometimes his pride and morals could really make him what veered more into the pig-headedness area- and partly because this whole horrible feeling of defeat was beginning to weight on her shoulders. She wasn't akin to such a notion, and she certainly didn't like what she was experiencing of it. By the Gods, she understood David, he was her husband after all, and they each understood how the other worked, but she was still unwilling to let him plunge head-first into an operation of this magnitude alone and at this hour, to say the least, it would be very insensible of his part.

As it was right now, with Humbert now dead and the short but precise message they had received, they were obviously not going to have much chance at catching Underworld by themselves: for all that Mary Margaret had a heavy dose of faith, she wasn't stupid either, and even she could agree that by themselves, they weren't going to be able to get very far –Hell, David had been after them for months now with still next to nothing to go with, much to his chagrin. No, being stubborn and continuing to snoop around for them by themselves would be a waste of time. Maybe it was time for a different approach, she thought, one with the help of someone who also might still have an interest in Underworld.

"Whatever we decide to do David, we can't do this alone, not anymore, and definitely not if it will cost us the life of another agent." The next part, she was rather hesitant to say aloud, given how her husband wasn't on the friendliest terms with the other woman, but if anyone might be able to help them, it would be her. Besides, there was definitely no harm in trying, even if it lead to nowhere, at least she'd have the satisfaction with knowing they had at the very least done something. "Maybe it's time we let Mills in on this problem." And she put her hands up in a defensive manner before continuing, not leaving the other man the time to interrupt her. "Remember, the Brits also have an interest in them to, they've been after Underworld about as long as we have, maybe they could help us. It would be in both our interests, wouldn't' tit?"

The last part, she added on impulse, hoping it would be enough to swing the scales in her favor and have David actually consider making a call, although with how tense his relationship with the red-headed woman was known to be, she still couldn't be entirely certain.

After all, Zelena Mills was known to be a severe and upstanding woman, one who did not stand attitude and who worked very hard, being the director of their British brethren at MI5. David did have to admit to himself that he'd heard of her on several occasion, especially when it had come to dealing with a bomb diffusion in the center of London a few years ago. Word had spread of how well she'd handled the situation and had massively helped the rather young director both gain respect from the security service world and admiration from several of her neighboring colleagues. David himself had had a few occasions where he'd met her, mainly for brief updates on intelligence they shared or deemed the other country might have use of, and any of those meetings had always presented him with the qualities he kept hearing about but, from past experiences they had shared working together, David would have preferred _not_ to have to deal with her on top of everything else. By his standards, he had enough to be dealing with already, an irritating red-headed Brit was definitely not something he particularly wanted to add to that list.

"Surely we can do this ourselves." He protested, already lifting the files on the left hand side of his desk, flipping though them briefly in the hopes of finding a suitable agent to set on the case and thus be able to dismiss Mills entirely. "I know agent Björgman would be up to the task he's skilled when it comes to keeping a low profile, maybe we could use him, let him out in the field to gather info- "

"David, Kristoff is an analyst, not someone we send into the field." Mary Margaret sighed, placing her hand son her hips, knowing it was going to come down to her convincing him if she was to get him to do this. "This isn't simply an small operation gone wrong, this is a _breach_ in our security. You told me yourself, Humbert was sent undercover with very few people in on it, only five or six people excluding you and me. Whoever sold him out knew about what we were doing and knew where we were sending him tonight, they know about our looking into the group and they obviously thought that letting him die instead of, say, asking for a ransom, would be safer than letting Graham escape with whatever information he might have acquired. We can't risk somebody else's life while that group is still out there: we've got a major problem here in our security organizations, a problem that could put us all at risk, we need all the help we can get. If it might involve MI-5, you have to call her."

And judging by her tone, this was final, Mary-Margaret wasn't about to settle for him choosing any other option than calling Mills, and if her reasonable arguments hadn't won him over, when David saw the pleading look in her eye, he sighed and gave in. Maybe it wasn't what was deemed professional, to comply to the charms of your wife, but like they say, old habits die hard, and this one was one David was rather loathe to let go of anytime soon.

"All right, all right, I'll do it." He eventually conceded, putting his hands up in a placating manner as he scowled at the smug grin on his wife's face. "But it's only because you asked."

And if he'd been in a foul mood for a moment, the co-director was quick to snuff it away with a quick peck on the cheek before leaving the room, claiming she needed another coffee of she was to stay the whole night up. Her unhealthy dose of optimism was something David wished he could sometimes share in (now, for example, would be a very good time), but being the more level-headed of the couple, he was quick to get back to his duties, namely, sliding the files Ruby had brought him in earlier. There was nothing he further he was about to do concerning underworld tonight –overtiredness never really gave the best results, after all, and so he flicked through the files one by one, taking his time to evaluate and observe the strengths and weaknesses fledglings entering his service (and maybe he was doing it to put off the calls he was supposed to make to Mills, but David wasn't about to admit it to himself).

First up came the expert engineer Kristoff Björgman his wife had just mentioned a moment ago –tall, broad, mid thirties and seemed to have rather good records behind him, Will Scarlett, slightly younger, more into the trade of supervising arms dealing and gang-related crime, Archie Hopped, much older but seemed to be more into the psychological aspect of things and sought to understand hate groups and their motivations –probably a fine man too but not what David was after.

Sighing, he rested his hand in his head as defeat was quick to creep up on him again, this time the fear of not having an adequate agent up to the task as each page ended up being turned over and put on top of the other pile –at least it had been until he reached about the three-quarter mark of his bunch. David was after someone smart, discreet, intelligent, someone like-

 _Emma Swan._

The bold letters stood out at the top of the page, followed suit by the picture of a rather young looking woman, blonde, probably in her thirties, and as he skimmed through the file, David dared to hang on to that little bit of hope his wife so loved talking about. Reading through the agent's details, not even realizing he'd shoved the rest of the pile away, David clung to the pieces of paper like a lifeline, _finally_ something positive had come out of the day.

He didn't even wait for Mary Margaret to return before pulling out his mobile phone and typing in the 10 digit number inscribed on the file before bringing the device to his ear s it rung, David praying for the agent to pick up faster until finally someone picked up at the other end of the line.

"Swan."

Practical, firm but still a hint of politeness in her tone. David smiled, it would seem like she'd been trained well.

"This is Nolan, director, we need you in here as soon as possible. I might have something I want you to look in to."


	3. Joint Operation

**Uni has been quite demanding lately, and I've been a little sick since last Saturday (because horse-riding in a T-Short when it's cold is totally a good idea) so haven't had much time for writing unfortunately.**  
 **I'm still setting things into motion here so it's not definitely not the best chapter, but we'll be taking off soon, hang on just a little longer!**

 **On another note, holy Hell, has everyone been freaking out over the CaptainSwan preview on Tumblr or what? Checking my dash between two classes and this was literally all over it!^^**

* * *

"Hurry up, agent Jones, we haven't got all day."

The thick British accent belonged to none other than one Zelena Mills, head of MI-5's London headquarters. Drawing herself up to her full height, the young director tautly returned the greetings she received from their American cousins as she past them by, eager to get to the arranged meeting room so that whatever this matter was, it would be dealt with as soon as possible.

David Nolan's call had come a mere few hours beforehand, interrupting her typing up of a very important email and requesting her presence on American soil as soon as possible, that this was not a meeting up for negotiations and that her and her agents' help was going to be crucial. Needless to say, Zelena had _not_ been the most eager to comply, but her job came before her personal feelings towards the man, and with a quick redistribution of her duties to someone else in the service she knew she could trust while she would be absent and a few last-minute calls, she had been quick to book herself and her two operatives a direct flight to America.

Finding an agent or two to bring along hadn't been easy business either, for many of her more skilled ones were already seeing to cases around London or up North with their Scottish brethren, namely Ruby Lucas and Jefferson, both of whom were still trying to get to the bottom of a possible criminal network based in Glasgow, meaning she could not bring them with her. Instead, her colleagues at the head of GCHQ had insisted she spare only agents who might not be required on duty while she was away, which had left her with little choice as to who she could chose, given that Marco, as head of section, was to stay behind and oversee the running of her organization in her absence.

Elsa Frost had been the first agent she'd sought out for the task, knowing that a computer specialist and remarkably resourceful young woman when it came to anything related to electronics was an asset she could hop to put to good use. Zelena had had her on her team for a few years now, and the blonde, while quite lacking in self confidence at the beginning, had developed some serious skills and helped her pinpoint numerous groups and suspects on more than one occasion. Mills was pretty certain that if Nolan was going to be needing anyone to deconstruct clues originating from a computer terminal, Frost was the one agent most suitable for the task.

Killian Jones had been the last-minute choice she'd made when it came to picking out a field agent to bring along. She had initially been considering Alice Kinglseigh but after a quick read through her agents' files, Jones had seemed slightly more suitable –being the latest addition to her team of field agents, maybe this might be the opportunity for her to see for herself what he exactly was made of, and if anything, it would get him used to the real thing. And familiarizing him with their American cousins was also something he would need to get down with, given how MI5 and the CIA were set on sharing information, so Zelena thought she might as well give him his first taste of it now rather than wait until another crisis arose.

Trailing behind, the two agents in question had decided to refrain against asking Mills any further questions, gathering that she was probably not in the mood to discuss the problem at hand any more with them until they met up with their CIA counterpart. She hadn't told them much, when the phone-call came late the previous night, only to pack a small bag and meet her on the grid as quickly as possible before being whisked off to Heathrow and taking the first plane to Newport News-Williamsburg International Airport, and it went without saying that the flight had been tense.

Zelena had, for the most part, remained quiet, reading through the short report Nolan had sent to her about his agent Humbert and the small bits and pieces he'd been working on –something drug related, it would seem, but nothing beyond that. Unfortunately, there was too little there to truly build anything concrete, and it was frustrating knowing she had several hours to wait before getting anything more.

Elsa and Killian, for their part, hadn't had that much to talk about on the plane either, given that they knew nothing whatsoever on the case yet and had very little family matters to share. Engaging with Mills had seemed like a rather risked endeavor in itself, one they were not willing to chance, and so instead had both settle down to get whatever extra sleep they might be able to catch, knowing that the next few days were probably bound to be requesting their attention long after they would usually nod off if this truly was a crisis they ought to be worrying about.

However, now following in Mill's footsteps, her pristine high-heeled boots echoing off the polished floor and mostly-empty corridor, they both found themselves slightly anticipating what was to come next. Neither had ever really been outside of their headquarters in London when it came to a mission (excluding maybe that one time they'd been sent to Edinburgh to watch over security for some important peace talk, and judging by Mill's constant lip-biting as she kept her eyes glued to her file in her hand, this was _probably_ nothing like that), they'd been out in the streets of London –Elsa usually remaining in their MI5 van, typing away and decoding security footage and pulling up location blueprints in a record time while Killian and Jefferson were usually the ones with the guns drawn out and scouting their targeted buildings- and in that regards, Killian would say that he probably knew his way around the city like the back of his hand by now, so in a sense, coming all the way to America was oddly exciting for someone like him, who relished in the adrenalin and surviving their dangerous encounters (something he often prided himself in, much to Elsa's dismay). Only, judging by the way Zelena remained stiffly upright and absolutely _reeled_ of tension and barely concealed anxiety, it was probably safe to assume that whatever it was she was about to put him up to, it wasn't anything like the rather local threats they dealt with on a daily basis back in London.

"You think we ought to be worrying more?" Elsa said quietly, knowing attracting Zelena's attention now wasn't something desirable. The woman obviously had enough on her plate already, and the technician would rather avoid getting on her nerves now –the possibility of getting reprimanded in front of their American colleagues was too embarrassing to even imagine.

"Couldn't say, really. But it's got to be relatively important if she's dragged us all the way to America for it." Killian ventured, nodding to one of the CIA employees as they passed him by. "Mills didn't really tell us much, did she?" And, lowering his voice slightly, knowing he really didn't fancy getting caught saying it aloud, "She doesn't seem to be doing too well either, if I'm honest." And, when Elsa looked back to where he was pointing, to Zelena's hand where she kept clenching and unclenching her fingers (discretely, unnoticeable to anybody who wasn't truly looking, but the paid of them _were_ quite perceptive at times) she couldn't help but feel a small pang of compassion for the woman.

"Think it might have something to do in connection to with last weeks' massive increase in weapon dealing across the UK? That she might suspect American involvement somehow?" That case had been left to Wendy Darling, Zelena had made sure someone was in charge of investigating it further while she was absent, and in a way, it could make sense, Killian thought. Maybe there was more to the affair than met the eye (and given that there were a lot less legal issues concerning arms dealing in the United States than back home, maybe Zelena had put her finger on some supply group here), but it still seemed odd to him that Mills –upstanding, always cool-headed and wits-about-her Zelena Mills- would let off such an uneasy aura as she stiffly made her way to their meeting point for something like _that_. And he had a nagging voice in the back of his brain insisting that it had nothing to do with their little affair back in London. It obviously had to be much bigger for Mills to actually let them _see_ her loose her composure.

"No, I don't think so. We've dealt with illegal arms-trade before, I don't think Mills would lose it for that. She definitely isn't the type."

"Makes sense." Elsa said grimly, "But then why bring us all the way here without telling us anything beforehand? What would she have to lose by keeping it all to herself?"

"Maybe she was told save it for herself until confirmation –keeping secrets is part of the trade after all." He shrugged, seemingly unconcerned.

The problem was, as each step brought them closer to their appointed meeting room, Killian could feel his stomach knotting itself rather uncomfortably, and it was not something a carefree agent like himself particularly enjoyed.

He knew for a fact that Mills wouldn't lie to them –it went against her moral code and there was no point to it anyway. She had been nothing but honest in the six years he'd been working for her and he doubted quite strongly that now would be the time she decided to lie to them. Sure, she had occasionally withheld evidence and information, but it had always been out of worry of it's veracity than out of pettiness –Zelena would rather have them work on what they knew for a fact that have them waste energy picking away at hints that turned out to be false. And it made perfect sense: if the director eventually came to have any extra verified information whatever this crisis was, she would tell them.

However, trust in his superior didn't shake off instinct, and the feeling of something off _definitely_ lingered in the air around them.

"Yeah. I still don't like this though." Elsa tried to stop twisting her fingers –a nervous habit she had yet to break-, knowing that anybody they passed would easily be able to read her body language and pick up on her distressed state, and not for the first time did she wished she could also adopt the carefree attitude her colleague so easily endorsed.

Killian had been about to tell her that regardless of personal feelings, they didn't have much of a choice, that their job was essentially why they woke up every morning and that personal feelings didn't matter when it came to dealing with crisis, but was beaten to it when someone else spoke up before he even got the chance to open his mouth.

"Mrs. Mills?"

The familiar accent made the three of them turn around towards a rather young looking agent, with a mop of butterscotch hair and dark eyes, neatly dressed and who already had hand extended towards them in an obvious attempt to greet them.

Zelena shook it first, the young man introducing himself as one Peter Pan, and the easy going smirk that broke out across his face made Killian feel uncomfortable. The boy (because he was probably an adult, but still looked rather boyish in the face) had this unnerving way of looking at them, as if he were able to see more than he was actually willing to divulge, and while both Elsa and Mills seemed rather unfazed as they accepted the welcome and followed the other agent to the boardroom, Killian kept his eyes glued on the way Pan lead them along, confidence radiating off his body and the occasional attempt at conversation quickly brought to an end when Mills refused to engage very far with him.

He knew he was really only being a paranoiac, that the kid was just doing his job, but then again, the tone Mills had had when she had called him yesterday had been enough for him to know that this was serious, and Pan's almost too easy-going nature wasn't doing much to ease the tension. Needless to say, the trip down to the conference room hadn't been something he enjoyed, and while Pan leaving reduced the uneasy feeling somewhat, when he followed Mills and Elsa into the enclosed crisp-white space, Killian realized with a pang that this wasn't much better.

As soon as the last agent door shut the door quietly, David Nolan rose from his chair, bypassing the table to shake hands with Mills, the woman politely returning the favor before he urged them over to the table, waving to the three empty chairs to his left.

"Miss Mills, this here is my wife, Mary-Margaret whom you know of already I take it, and this here," he added, towards the young woman seated next to him "is Emma Swan. After looking through her file last night, I think I can task her with looking into this."

Emma nodded to the redhead, opting to not say anything until she was asked. Nolan had called her late last night and while she was always up for what the job required of her, this last-minute request for her to come here had cost her a good night's sleep (she'd have to catch up on that sometime soon).

Granted, she hadn't had too much of a distance to travel, given that her post in Maine wasn't too far from Fairfax and finding adequate transport had been arranged for her, it was simply the fact that this was all last-minute business that Emma wasn't particularly fond of, especially last-minute business she had no real clue as to what exactly it entailed. Nolan's message had been extremely concise and rather vague, not letting any detail slip out of fear someone might be listening in on their conversation, just telling her to come as quickly as possible, and as his subordinate, little choice had she but to accept.

She'd had only arrived shortly before and settled for the chair at the far left hand side of the desk, opting to nurse a warm plastic cup of coffee while waiting. Emma was still relatively new to the security service world, had only completed her training a few years ago and had yet to prove herself in her line of work (not that she ever doubted she would, even by her standards, she thought of herself as a relatively skilled agent), this was something she knew she could not afford to screw up and was rather anxious to get on to, if the way she continuously fiddled her cup were anything to go by.

Estimating herself a good judge of character, Emma had immediately labeled Mills as strict and rather severe, the red-headed woman's stern features not smoothening out in the slightest when she had greeted her, and quite unlike Mary Margaret Nolan who always seemed to make it her job to make even the newest agents feel at home in their service, and it was rather a stark contrast between the two. The long fingers encircling her hand were marked by years of experience and testified to many a time out in the field itself, Emma deducted after quickly glancing up and down the woman's exposed skin, and the dark black and green tailored dress she wore were definitely a testament to her temperament –cold, stern and just a small hint of color. Concealing the gulp of anticipation wasn't something Emma had been anticipating.

Elsa Frost was a lot more pleasant, and as she the slightly older technician, Emma could feel half of the tension she'd previously carried on her shoulders slightly ebb away –not completely, never completely: these were still strangers, and Emma didn't do well with letting people in- but the way Elsa had expressed her enthusiasm when it came to working with them, and that if ever she personally had any problems regarding her computer that she was more than happy to lend assistance, it made Emma slightly relieved to know that maybe she had a nice new colleague she could rely on. Not a friend. Emma didn't have friends in this line of work.

She wasn't too sure what to make of Jones though. He had a cocky air to him, one Emma didn't particularly like nor look forward to have to work with. He was polite, as was expected of him obviously, but Emma would have been blind if she were to say that she hadn't notice him trying to charm his way into her good graces –what with the eyebrow raise and the odd accent, but Emma wasn't one to fall for such trivialities. If Mills had brought him along, she was pretty certain he must have had something to offer beyond his looks (or she hoped so, at least. He wasn't going to survive very long if he solely relied on them).

Regardless, she was here above all to do her job, self-assured annoying Brit' spy along for the run or not, and she damn well intended to deliver, Emma Swan hadn't spent so much time training to fail now. Resolutely, she leant back in her chair, crossing her arms slightly when Jones raised an eyebrow at her –no, she wasn't playing that game with him thank you very much.

"Thank you for make it here so quickly, all of you." David was the one to break the ice, treading as carefully as possible around Mills and acknowledging Emma's early morning with a nod. It wasn't much, but she took it for what it was, gratitude.

"Given your message, I didn't have much of a choice. Care to share what that was about?"

"Mary Margaret and I had an operation running here, an asset we implanted in one of the local drug groups but he was tipped off-" at this he turned towards Mary Margaret, who, rather reluctantly, pushed David's computer monitor towards their four guests, the gruesome image they had received as an email attachment now full on display.

Emma gulped. Whatever it was Nolan had requested her for, she hadn't expected, well… _This_. She felt a pang of loss for the obviously young agent, and her stomach made a flip as she took in the extent of what had been done to him before he had died.

"Does it remind you of anything?"

"Underworld." Zelena breathed, and Emma noticed how her face seemed to have turned several shades paler. "But how? What on earth are they doing here? "

"We don't know, they've only been here for a few months at the most but this is definitely their doing. I'd put agent Humbert and an asset of mine on to them, a very confidential mission with very little outer access, but unfortunately his cover was blown, someone tipped the group off and they killed him."

"All right. And apart from that, have they made any requests? Further demands?" Zelena leaned forward, and Emma could see that a spark of interest had lit up in her eyes, like something burnt out long ago suddenly catching flame once again. It was odd, how different she was to Nolan and his more distant attitude.

"Not really." Mary Margaret sighed, pointing towards her husband's computer monitor. "After we got the call from Queen, we also received an anonymous email and…" She picked up two pieces of paper form the desk, handing them over to Zelena, who then passed them on to her own agents and to Emma, who herself had to look twice to make sure she was actually seeing things straight. The mutilated corpse made her stomach churn, and the added ID and short message of _We know_ scrawled next to the poor victim's head had her anxiety rising –this was far more serious than Nolan had made it out to be on the phone, and it was certainly nothing like what Emma had ever looked into before either. Hell, right now she wasn't even sure if she was still the right candidate for the job!

"The same thing happened to Agent Neal Cassidy five years ago when I put him onto them too." Zelena mumbled quietly, and Emma's head shot up.

 _Cassidy?_

Emma briefly recalled the man –tall, dark hair, an easy-going nature- she had worked with him a few times when he had come over as a representative. They'd been quite skilled when it came to hacking into services and both had made quite the team (she'd even relented and let him take her out for a meal, and it had been quite nice), but now learning that he was _dead_ made this whole affair seem a lot less inviting than it initially had. Especially when her turn came around to take a look at Humbert's photograph –no, she would definitely rather avoid having that happen to her if possible.

Sparing a glance to the other two agents, she could see that the blonde was obviously shaken up, given how she was biting her lip and her eyes were blown wide as she took in the picture (and would the situation have been slightly different, Emma might have looked for words of comfort to offer her, but this was neither the time nor place) and Jones looked, well, blank. Whether it was a well-timed mask or whether it was the job having removed his ability to feel compassion toward a fellow deceased colleague, Emma wasn't too sure, but she certainly hoped it was the former. It was strange though, she found herself thinking, how Frost was so open with how she felt, in that regards, she was very much like Mary Margaret, and it was almost a relief to know that Nolan's wife wasn't the only one of her kind on their world of dirt and lies. Mills and Jones were almost the two she could relate to more, and while she certainly didn't like the latter's sense of easy-goingness, she was glad to see that he did seem to have some degree of training when it came to keeping a straight face.

"Cassidy would probably have had a very good career had he not been so unfortunate." Zelena continued, still looking down at the picture. "I did try to set up a team to track down Underworld after he died, but they simply… Disappeared. I put a few of my technicians onto it just to be sure, but there were no traces across the United Kingdom and after months with still no results, GCHQ eventually told us to shut the operation down, obviously of a mind that there were other threats we were better off seeing to. I should have known." She sighed, shaking her head.

"Well, this time's your chance. If we work this out well, we might be able to catch them once and for all, get rid of them for good!" How Mary Margaret could be so optimist, Emma still wasn't sure, but after a few years of working under the woman and she still having not changed in the slightest, she had just learnt to go along with it, even if the attitude could seem odd. Like now, for example. "Is there anything you can share with us from what you had gathered back then? Any information Cassidy might have given you?"

"Nay. I hadn't put him on the case for very long, at least not long enough for him to get solid information. Cassidy did find a relatively moderate member of the group, and I did have Cassidy try to get information out of him, but the poor bloke was too scared for his life, and didn't give us much to go on. All that we got at the time was that Underworld began as a small protest group against biochemistry research for weapons and that the group itself was rather violent when it came to demonstrations against the big laboratories. They had been vocal for about several types of threats they had planned to carry out but in the end, they never went through with it and we never really got to the heart of the group. I also had several technicians roam online forums and sites, but nothing there either, they seemed to avoid social media at any rate."

"Well, whatever happened in England, they're back at it again, only here, on American soil instead. And it's a much bigger territory this time around." Mary Margaret said grimly, still shaken by the gruesome picture she and her husband had received the other day.

"And if what Asset Queen told us is correct, that Agent Humbert was indeed tipped off by someone who had access to knowledge about the operation, we have a serious security breach on top of that." David added, coming back to the problem at hand and why exactly he had asked for Agent Swan and director Mills to make it here. " _If_ one of our CIA or MI5 agents is feeding confidential information to Underworld, we can't afford to let the group continue on, we have to take it down before it uses what it already might know against us. And that's where Swan comes in."

Emma, who had been snooping through the Humbert's file once more, trying to get a feel for the man and for who they were up against –crime scenes often spoke volumes one's temperament after all- looked back up.

"You are a newly appointed field officer, am I right?" Zelena's tone was clipped, and if Emma didn't know any better, she would have said that, going by the slanted eyes and the piercing stare, Mills was actually _judging_ her. Well, time to show her what she was capable of, and that one British head of security wasn't what would intimidate Emma Swan.

"Yes M'am. I was offered the job last year. Been alternating between grid and field work since." Keep it simple and to the point, they usually liked that, besides, waxy vocabulary was best used for politics after all.

A nod of approval, that was good at least. "Well, Miss Swan, in the spirit of collaboration, we want you and Agent Jones here to work together. We'll be doing what we can from the grid, along with other matters I'm here to see to, but the both of you are field officers, and we're counting on you to get to the bottom of this breach so we can close down whatever threat this might pose before it actually happens. I'm also giving you access to our MI5 files via Jones if ever you need them, and in turn, he will have access to yours at the CIA, which I deem fair enough?" Turning towards Nolan for confirmation, Emma saw the man nod to the red-head, confirming her requests, and she deflated slightly, a little disappointed that she wouldn't get to show Jones her skills when it came to breaking into computers. It wasn't a part of her life she was particularly proud of, but it had given her skills that came in useful at her every-day life in the CIA, and Emma was pretty certain Jones couldn't account for those skills –he looked way too relaxed to be the type interested in computer coding and secret messaging.

Maybe she might be able to teach him a thing or two –not that she was thinking of sparing extra time for the guy. He was just here for the crisis, once it was over, Emma knew he would be out of her life forever and she would just go back to her station Maine and everything would be normal again.

"We have a safehouse set up for the both of you only a short distance away." David added sliding a pair of keys toward her, and it took Emma a moment to register what exactly he'd said.

 _A safehouse set up for the both of you._

Oh, hell no.

Emma did _not_ want to have to share a house with him. Granted, she didn't actually know Jones, and it was maybe a little unfair to judge him after only a few minutes, but from what she'd gathered, the carefree attitude was definitely _not_ something she was looking forward to have to work with, let alone live with. Nolan could be cruel sometimes, it would seem.

Looking at him again, Jones was still leaning back in his chair, still listening and nodding to whatever was being said to him regarding the mobile phone Nolan was handing him (oh that's right, he would have had to pay extra with his personal mobile, Emma thought), but he just seemed too… Casual about all this, and it frustrated her.

That, and the fact that she was going to have to work closely with a total stranger. Emma knew she didn't do well with strangers, much less working with them for an extended period of time. Granted, he didn't look unkind or out to get her, but looks could be deceiving, especially in her line of work, and as she glanced once again to the bloodied photograph on the desk, Emma made up her mind that she would not let him in –and that if he did try, she was sure to make it difficult. Besides, how long could this case last? A month at the most, probably, she deemed, there was no reason for them to be remotely close when in thirty days they would likely never see each other again.

"Here's the file Humbert was working on, just to give you an idea and somewhere to start." Frost caught it, flipping it through quickly before passing it to Jones, and Emma knew it would be the first thing she'd want to check once they made it to their shared house, anything to limit her interaction with him would be welcomed.

"We won't be keeping you any longer for now." Mary Margaret said as she rose from her chair, shaking Elsa's hand first and then hers, signaling that they were dismissed. "You should get some rest for tonight, start working on all this tomorrow, I don't want my agents to be overtired."

Elsa was the first one to leave, Mills telling her she had her one place with August Booth, one of the analysts Emma knew well from joint missions they had happened to share. Not for the first time that evening did she wish to be sharing a place with someone familiar and not be about to invite a total stranger into an enclosed and personal space.

Turning back to him, Jones seemed to either not have entirely heard the dismissal or partly executed it before stopping, for he now was crouched over his phone, typing away furiously and delaying what a very anticipated reunion between Emma and a soft bed –what she wouldn't give to be in one right now.

"Are you coming?" She tried to remain civil all the same, knowing better than to antagonize someone she was about to work with for who knew how long. However, as he made it to the door and stopped at the frame, actually waving her through with an "after you", Emma couldn't help but roll her eyes slightly.

Really, of all the agents Mills have brought along, did she really have to have found the most irritating one at hand? (Because agents weren't chivalrous, they simply weren't, and to Emma, this certainly what she would label as "normal"). And maybe Jones did smile at her, (and maybe, Emma thought for a moment, he was _genuinely_ trying to be nice to her), but she certainly wasn't going to make it easy on him.

Oh no, Emma Swan did not play about. She knew very well that was here to see this operation through, and that did not include making friends with the likes of Killian Jones.


	4. First Impressions

**Just a quick update before Halloween, things will take off soon, promise! :)**

* * *

The keys jingled in her hands, as Emma awkwardly jammed them into the door while precariously balancing her over packed bag on her other shoulder. Jones had offered to carry it for her, but Emma Swan did not need help with something trivial like that, no thank you. And she had let him know as much immediately when she had firmly turned him down, steadily pushing past him and walking up to the door.

Upon entering and turning on the light switch to her right, the first thing that Emma noted (with a slight pang) was that the place appeared to be rather primitive, and quite bare. What must have been, once upon a time, stark white walls, were now naught but a decaying grey wallpaper, parts in the corners already peeling off (and she prayed to the gods above that nothing was hiding behind it) and what probably amounted to a few months of dust gathered up in the far ends of the ceiling. She had the stomach for a lot of things, but slimy bugs cowering away in what was to be her home for the near future wasn't one of them.

"Charming place." Jones commented from beside her, as he set his bag down onto the table, taking a moment to cast a weary glance around the narrow apartment rom.

There truly wasn't much to see, and for a moment, and Emma wondered why she'd even been expecting any better in the first place. This wasn't some commonly used place, it wasn't a home people lived in, it was just a small place where the CIA could send agents to crash down in, a temporary thin the higher placed members would never dare to use. No wonder it didn't look like much: four small rooms (and even at that, Emma hesitated to label them as such) including a tiny kitchen, what she supposed was to be labeled as the "living area" (which was more like an old-looking sofa, a coffee table and the most ugly curtains she had ever laid eyes on framing the window), one bedroom and a very narrow bathroom.

 _Lovely,_ Emma thought sourly. Now she really hoped this case would be over and done with quickly, she rather missed her own apartment very much right now.

"I guess I'll be taking this room then, you take the one next to the kitchen." Emma said, as she stopped in front of the narrow door next to the bathroom, of a mind she'd rather pick her room now and be done with it than be left with a second choice. "I'll be back out in a bit, just need to unpack."

And with that she was off, shutting the bedroom door just a little too tightly, but if she were honest, Emma didn't really pay attention to that. The fact was, she was finally alone and in a quiet space, and, more importantly, she finally had a moment to _breathe_.

Emma had initially hoped that meeting up with the British end of the team would actually lead to some answers and shed some more light on the situation, she'd hoped that anything she'd get the chance to listen on to while there would clarify the little bits of information Nolan had been willing to share with her beforehand. Instead, the whole affair now seemed even more of a convoluted mess and to top thins off, she was stuck with what was bound to be an irritating work partner.

And Emma could safely say she didn't do well with being copped up with work partners.

No, she was not looking forward to this at all.

At least for now, she could safely make the most of the next ten minutes in the room, by herself. And Emma fully intended on making the most of those ten minutes, namely, collapsing onto the bed, which was the first priority. Her aching feet no longer baring her weight, it was a relief indeed to be able to rest up for a moment, and begin to look through her own bag as she went.

Emma made sure to take her time, to nicely fold everything back up and awkwardly reach to the socket at the other side of the bed to plug in her laptop, anything really that would delay the inevitable fact that at some point, she would have to go back to the main room. She just wasn't ready to face that _yet_ , not while she still had a little sanctuary in her very own bedroom.

She liked being alone, or at least, she'd grown used to it –what with being through several foster homes but never managing to stay there, Emma had long ago learnt that it was better to be by herself and not let anyone in, it limited the damage, so to speak. Sure, August and Leroy were nice colleagues, people she knew she could rely on if the job ever demanded it, but they weren't… Well, friends. They weren't people she would hang out with on any ordinary day, they weren't people she could confide in, they were people Emma worked with to get the job done and nothing really beyond that. And that was okay in her books, Emma had learnt to get used to it, and she rather enjoyed whatever it was they had.

This however, this was different. She'd never shared a place with either of them, and now having to do so with a total stranger (and not one she was very impressed with so far), Emma could feel the creeping anxiety rise in the pits of her stomach already. She didn't _want_ this, to be stuck with someone she would undoubtedly have to open up to at some point or another (because she strongly doubted that going on without so much as a word exchanged between them once they made it back to the safe house every evening for three weeks would be remotely possible) and as she folded one of her few shirts and neatly put it with the others in the small chest of drawers beneath the window, Emma hopes that this would be over with soon. She really couldn't wait to get back to a normal routine.

" _Swan?"_

And there it was, the fatal knock on the door forcing her back into the last place she wanted to be in right now.

"Yes?" She called out, zipping her bag shut and turning around just in time for the door to open.

"I made tea, if you want any?" Jones asked, pointing back to the couch and coffee table, where he must have set the food down. Emma hadn't really entertained the thought of really eating anything before heading off for the night, but the thought of having something warm rift then override her desire to be alone, and she found herself nodding. Sharing a meal with him couldn't be _that_ bad.

"Sure, just give me a minute?"

He backed off immediately, and for a moment, Emma swore she heard him say something along the lines of _"As you wish"_ but after a moment of reflection, pinned it on her overtired brain imagining things, because work colleagues simply didn't talk like that to one another and she doubted it was some trademark phrase used among her British cousins. From what she'd gathered of the other agent, Frost certainly hadn't seemed to be the kind of person who would use such vocabulary at any rate.

Picking up one of the dark sweaters she'd brought along, Emma slipped it on as she made her way back to the couch, and the distinct smell of butter did not go unnoticed. _How did the guy even cook anything without me-?_

Jones hadn't made tea.

Or, rather, he had, just not the tea _Emma_ had expected him to. Because the steaming mug and slice of buttered toast on the plate beside it wasn't exactly what Emma usually labeled as 'tea'.

"Problem, Swan?"

"No, um, no, not really. It's just that, well, when you said tea, I didn't really mean-" She awkwardly gestured to the mug on the table. It wasn't that Emma didn't appreciate the gesture (to be quite frank, she was rather chilly herself and wasn't averse to something warm) just, well tea wasn't something she usually made a habit of taking. "Thanks though." She wasn't about to turn it down though, and the nice warmth it sent spreading through her hands was definitely worthwhile. Maybe it wouldn't taste the nicest, but at least it would stave off the cold for a while.

"Have you got any more paperwork on the case? Anything Mills might have given you so we can get a head start?"

Killian shook his head "Nothing much really. Mills wasn't the most forthcoming when Frost asked her for further detail, probably means it's either confidential or she had info she wasn't certain of, and Mills is usually someone who likes it better when we work on hard evidence."

 _Understandable,_ Emma thought.

Jones took another sip out of the mug before putting it down, and the cryptic look he gave her made Emma feel slightly uncomfortable. Neither said anything for a while, each one too busy judging the other, no doubt trying to get a feel for what their partner was like and uncover anything they might deem useful in their set of hidden skills, but for someone like Emma, who took a certain amount of pride in an agent with extremely well built walls, the fact that she could feel that this work-partner (mostly a stranger to her still) could see past that and deep into what _Emma Swan_ was at her core, this was definitely not something she had signed up for. She was here for a case, not for a psycho-analysis.

Quickly switching her gaze back to the mug in her hands, Emma brought it up to her mouth, sipping probably more than what was necessary, but it meant that the conversation was momentarily stopped and that she had a moment for herself, which was a relief. She knew she wasn't someone who had an easy time adapting to a new work partner (it had taken a long time before catching up with August had become somewhat of a daily routine, and for the man himself to become someone Emma knew for sure she could rely on) and while making small talk with Jones was probably what was in her best interest right now if she wanted to get to know the guy –genuinely interested in him or not, Emma knew she had little choice, knowing him would be essential so they could effectively work together- it wasn't something she ever found easy.

Being rather reserved and one to keep to herself by nature, being dropped with someone so different and outspoken felt a little disconcerting to say the least, and being thrown off balance, into something completely unfamiliar was not something Emma was particularly fond of. And the fact that this guy might eventually overpass the bounds of mere collaboration because of their shared private space once they were off the rid made Emma nervous.

"How did someone like you end up working for the American secret services anyway?"

Talk about making her nervous, did he really have to go there?

" _Excuse me?"_ And the indignant tone was _definitely_ intentional, because that was _not_ a question Emma felt Jones was entitled to ask her, at least, not yet. Hell, she'd only met him a few hours ago, and he was already snooping after personal history like that?

She didn't realize she'd leant quite back quite a bit, not until her back hit the side of the couch and Emma had no other choice than to bring her own plate back to her knees if she ever hoped to finish it, she was not about to uncurl from here after such a prying demand. Granted, she knew they were supposed to work together, as a team, and teammates rarely pulled away from each other, but this wasn't something she was ready to deal with right now, especially not with someone she didn't know and was not ready to open up to yet (if _ever_ ), and she hoped the defensive attitude would be enough for Jones to drop that kind of questions, or at least, opt to ask for something less personal.

He _did_ have the decency to look slightly sorry though, Emma could give him that at least, but no way was that going to help him get under her skin. They were work partners and nothing more, and Emma certainly didn't judge it necessary for the job that she knew everything about him –nor did she really want to. It wasn't the kind of question she ever dealt with in her line of work anyway: who ever asked each other why they joined the service?

Nobody ever took the time for that, and the fact that Jones _had…_ Well Emma wasn't too sure what to make of that yet, but she wasn't about to give into him. While she knew it probably wasn't the best to antagonize him on their first day,

"Why so interested?" She shrugged, as if unaffected in the hopes that her unwillingness to even broach the subject would mean he wouldn't try to pry any further. Besides, they were temporary colleagues, they weren't supposed to get to know each other beyond what was deemed professionally acceptable, and Jones knowing of her reasons behind picking up the job didn't seem to fit the description, at least in Emma's books.

"Just like to know who I'm working with." Jones shrugged, sipping form his mu again and opening the folder Mills and Nolan had given to them before their departure. "Anyway, what do you people know about Underworld so far?"

Well, to say that he was quick at changing the subject would be an understatement, but Emma honestly didn't mind, and was rather relieved of not having to find another topic herself. Given that they had another while at least before the need to turn in for the night would let itself be known, she guessed that getting a head start on the case would be as good an option to take as any, and if anything, it might save them some time tomorrow morning.

And it meant that she didn't have to deflect any questions relating to herself, which Emma didn't particularly want to broach with him anytime soon, so really, they were all winners here.

"Nothing much unfortunately, they were never the most forthcoming when it came to offering us hints of information about them."

Killian sighed –it was starting to look like they had just gotten themselves into one big mess, and one they were not bound to get to the bottom of anytime soon. Mills hadn't told either him or Elsa much before having them tag along, and only now getting the full picture of what he'd signed up for, he wasn't too sure he really wanted to be here at all – a small two-week mission, he wasn't averse to something like that, but he was quite certain that this can of worse would take much longer than that to debunk, and it was beginning to look like he was indeed going to have to miss out on being home in time for Liam's scheduled return.

Having a brother working for _an_ _tSeirbhís Chabhlaigh (*)_ was all well and good when it came to taking pride in Liam's occupation and when it came to paying the monthly bills –not that they were ever exorbitant, given that it was just the two of them and a small house they almost never occupied because of the types of jobs they had- but it also meant that he didn't see him much, the older Jones being stationed in Grangemouth quite frequently and him traipsing about London with Elsa and the rest of the team left very little for them to meet up, and it looked like Liam's return was something he'd be missing out on, again.

Killian looked back at the files, discarding the pages with prints of Humbert's ID and the dates of him joining the CIA -there probably wasn't much use in combing those files for any information on Underworld- instead, picking up the typed record of the conversation that had taken place between Nolan's asset, Queen, and the deceased agent.

"What about Hearts, how do you think they factor into all of this though? Looks like your Humbert guy had something to do with them, but there's no mention of Underworld linked to the name." He commented, handing her the sheet over.

Emma scanned it quickly, the name still not ringing any bell as far as she could remember, nor did it evoke any memories of any tidbits of knowledge she might have had from Dreamshade and Cassidy had certainly made no mention of them with her. Humbert had seemed to have judged it important enough to let them know about her though, and Emma doubted her fellow agent would have let a codename slide over a telephone conversation where anybody could pick it up if it wasn't important.

"I can put Frost onto it tomorrow, see if it will be any help. She's your computer engineer, right? Shouldn't be too difficult for her to access any extra information we might have on it. And at any rate, it'll give us somewhere to start."

"Aye, but what if Humbert got it wrong? If Hearts has nothing to do with Underworld and turns out to be a codename that amounts to nothing, we'll have ended up wasting our time and gotten nowhere, and judging by Nolan's tone, he seems to want this dealt with as soon as possible."

"You think these are two unrelated things? That Hearts might not have any connections?" Emma asked, curious now. She hadn't seen it like that at first, but if what Jones was saying was right, and that Hearts amounted up to a dead end, then they would be sure to lose out on valuable time, time that could be better spent looking into deeper facts.

"Well I'd rather not base our searches on ifs, maybes and buts, but it could do with some looking into on our part, just to make things clear."

Finding her eyes beginning to droop, Emma blinked several times, already beginning to feel the fatigue this case was bound to heap on her in the oncoming weeks, and brought her hand up, rubbing the bridge of her nose in annoyance. It wasn't so much the fact that she regretted taking up Nolan's call –not for the world would she miss an opportunity like this one- it was, simply put, the fact that it had been a split second decision on her part to accept it, and now finding herself knees deep in what was probably going to turn out to be one giant mess on top of having to share living quarters with a stranger and having to deal with it all at whatever ungodly hour this was, Emma wasn't too sure she was up for all that tonight.

Diving for another piece of toast, judging that it would be as good a means as any to stay awake a little loner, she picked the file apart once again –whether to avoid a direct conversation or to look for any more hints regarding Hearts, she wasn't too sure, but any distraction was welcome at this point- but there really wasn't much else for them to go on at this point: Humbert had been nothing more than an agent Nolan had used to get into contact with a drug group, and his death just so happened to have Underworld's prints over it, only visible trace left behind before they disappeared again, like ghosts. And usually, ghosts made it their goal to remain hidden, dismantling a hint of a group wasn't going to be an easy task, and whatever help she'd hoped Jones might be able to bring seemed to be short lived, as the other agent seemed about as clueless as she was on the whole thing.

 _Just wonderful,_ she thought sourly.

 _At least he can make decent toast._

"Well, for starters, how far would Humbert's safe house be from here? Perhaps there's more info at his place, things he might not have gotten enough time to relay back to your superior. From what I gather, his call to Queen was ended rather abruptly."

That was a way of putting thins mildly, Emma thought sourly, but Jones did have a point, Humbert's apartment could be as good a start point as any, and perhaps they would have to o through the place with a fine comb, but judging by how vicious Underworld had been to the agent in his last moments, any clue they could get their hands on would be welcome if it helped them.

"I'll get Queen's address from Nolan tomorrow too, if anybody's got a precise list of information he relayed back while he was alive, it's got to be her."

"You sure we should be involving her in this too? Isn't she just supposed to be an asset?" Kilian asked skeptically, rather of a mind that the less people they involved in this the better. It was one thing to ask information from one agent to another, it was another thing entirely to drag a civilian family into the drama, regardless of whether one of its members had formerly worked in the secret services. Granted, Nolan and Mills hadn't given them any restrictions when it came to getting to the bottom of this, meaning they could use fellow American citizens if the job required it, but interrogating one of them when the whole affair had next to nothing to do with their personal lives wasn't exactly what he'd signed up for.

"Oh so now you have limits?" Emma shot back, raising a dubious eyebrow. No, the idea of forcefully demanding information out of an ordinary person didn't particularly sit well with her either, but if it was the best chance they had at getting somewhere, Emma was damn well going to go down that road if need be, regardless of whether Jones' moral values coincided with the method or not. A few years ago, when Emma Swan had been nothing more than a mere rookie, maybe back then she might have questioned herself, judged how fair it was to drag someone into their investigations and have a thought for the emotional cost of it all, but that Emma was no longer the person who she was today. It had been a bitter pill to swallow, but Emma had witnessed firsthand how the job always came first, no matter the means they used to get there, and unfortunately, that had also included getting used to pushing her assets for as much information as possible, even if the process made them both uncomfortable. It was something she'd learnt long ago to go along with, and was something she'd come to terms with too. And it was odd to see how her previously laid-back and rather nonchalant partner was now questioning the methods their line of work restarted to.

Funny that, Emma wouldn't have labeled him as that type of person.

"It's more along the lines of what I'd label "Good Form", I do my job, but I have limits all the same, Miss Swan." And the smirk was definitely something Emma would _label_ as smug.

"What would you know of goof form?" She shot back, between two bites of toast, already up for the challenge of proving him wrong –they probably weren't supposed to argue like teenagers over what was and what was not something one would define as respecting the lines of morality, but Emma was tired, and anything to take a break was rather welcomed at this point. "I apologize if I sound callous, but you don't exactly look like an agent who debates the ethics of one's choices when a case comes up."

"Oh I'd know more than you think, Swan." Swan's tone wasn't friendly, Killian had discerned as much, but it wasn't outright hostile either, it was rather something along the lines of her daring him to prove her wrong, and Killian always liked a challenge, especially one he was pretty certain of having the upper hand at. He could tell her about Liam, about the set of values he'd learnt upon joining the navy and how it had bled into their every-day lives, but he was rather averse to sharing something so personal with someone he barely knew, besides, Swan probably wasn't interested in anything like that either. And it had little to do with them solving the case anyway. "Suffice to say, I'm not up for pushing the asset more than she has to be, remember, she _is_ a civilian at the end of the day, just one unlucky enough to be partly involved in all this."

Well, after a moment of reflection, she'd give him that one, Emma conceded. Maybe forcing Queen to speak wasn't their best option if they were set on retrieving as much information as possible, it was just the way Emma had learnt to go around things: if _you_ wanted something, _you_ were the one who had to get your hands dirty and push to get it. A lifetime spent looking out for herself because she knew nobody would do it for her had eventually ingrained such a thought process, a process which sometimes spread onto her work ethics and one that, after coming to terms with it a long while ago, Emma had learnt to rely on.

"Fine. We'll do it your way then, you should probably do the talking since you seem to enjoy it."

The tea, while she'd never made a habit of having a mug before heading off, was rather a nice way to finally unwind after the stress of the day. Granted Emma wasn't fooling herself, it would no doubt be back tomorrow and she would deal with it then all in good time, but right now, her shoulders sagging and the nice warmth she could feel spreading through her hands was probably better than any offerings of grilled cheese (and Emma Swan had a great fondness for grilled cheese).

"I bet we'll make quite the team, Swan."

She looked at him over the rim of her mug, not too sure whether Jones was being disturbingly earnest or simply sarcastic (and for someone who prided herself in being able to read people, it unsettled Emma quite a bit)

"Don't go soft now, from what Nolan said, these guys mean business." Deflection was always a trump card Emma knew she could use in awkward situations like these, when she didn't want to be honestly open (maybe someday, she might let someone in that deep, but not Jones, and certainly not right now), and instead, she settled for a casual rebuttal, seemed like it was the go-to way of talking to the Brit' without out rightly looking to offend him.

"Wouldn't dream of it, lass."

Forget what she'd just said, Emma wasn't about to take Jones seriously with that toothy grin anytime soon.

* * *

(*) _an_ _tSeirbhís Chabhlaigh_ is the maritime component of the Defence Forces of Ireland based in Haulbowline, County Cork.


	5. A Rocky Road

**Happy new year 2017! :)**

* * *

"Did you find anything more on it, Elsa?"

Hastily shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on the back of her desk chair, Emma quickly hurried over to her British associate, unconsciously crossing her fingers in the hopes good fortune would be on her side, and that the email she'd sent to the technician late last night might have proven itself to be the beginning of a trail for them to follow.

Carefully setting down the box of donuts she'd picked up when passing by the baker's earlier that morning, Emma offered one to her colleague and picked one out for herself before setting the carton package down–probably not the best things to start the day off with, but the rush of sugar would probably be sorely needed if Emma hoped for them to plough through this mess without over-working themselves- right next to the three empty coffee mugs neatly lined up next to the other agent's keyboard. Elsa had obviously decided to come in early after getting her message then, and Emma gathered that the older woman must have been working for quite a while already.

"I've been looking through the tape recording of Humbert's call, isolating any background noise I can find and singling out the voices but not very successfully, the exchange was too short for me to get anything truly substantial out of it." The blonde pointed back to the screen, where Emma saw what must have been one of her many computer detecting programs running, with several different colors identifying the levels of sound she'd managed to pull out from the initial recording –or at least, Emma assumed that's what it was, while she would define herself as quite a resourceful agent (and woman in general), she'd never truly understood the intricate workings of advanced computer programming given that it was not in her field of expertise, but she trusted Frost enough to assume she had a decent knowledge on the subject, and that she was pretty sure of what she was talking about.

"Well, if we've gotten whatever we can out of the call itself, maybe we should try to extrapolate a little." Given that the phone recording was unlikely to give them any extra information, Emma conceded that they might as well try and go down another route, see if they might not be more successful there. At the very least, it would give her something substantial enough to do with the skills she possessed and snooping around for any core-name related information from what they'd got from Humbert's seemed a lot more engaging to her than merely picking apart a phone call and continue to beat a dead horse.

Taking a bite out of one of the sugar donuts, Emma swerved back in her chair, picking up the pack she'd deposited beside her own desk upon entering the room and pulled out the typed up report on Humbert's case, flicking the first pages over knowing the agent's basic details weren't going to be of any help –might as well try and build on the hard facts that they already had.

As Nolan had clearly said, the goals of initial operation in itself weren't overly intricate –just find the Underworld cell and try to dismantle them from the inside, but as she flicked over several of the following pages, Emma felt any hope of finding extra crumbs of information crushed to nothing when it became obvious to her that even Humbert himself hadn't seemed to have been able to find much on the cell to further their investigation. Underworld had obviously been aware that the CIA were onto them even then, and thus had been exceedingly careful to not let the slightest piece of potential intelligence slip past them, given that most of potential assets agent Graham had met up with had given him next to nothing to work on.

It was as she flicked through the fifth page of the report that something caught her attention and, interest now piqued, Emma swung around on her chair, grabbed a pencil and carefully read through several of the reported written conversations between Humbert and what must have been a suspect he'd approached. She only made the connection after the name popped up for the third time, when she underlined it and linked it back to the audiotape she and Jones had heard of Queen's conversation with her deceased handler but there it was, written in black and white _– Hearts._

Eyes snapping back to the British tech and quickly noticing that Elsa was still typing about on her keyboard, no doubt in an attempt to get something more out of their current lead, she craned her neck over Frost's computer, where a tuff of blondish hair signaled another fellow agent slaving away. As she got her first glance of him when she opted to actually go over to him with the intent of getting him to look into it, Emma had to admit that he didn't look much of an agent: sandy unkempt hair, green turtle-neck sweater and wide eyes that seemed to not have a clue as to what they were actually doing –obviously one of the Brits, Emma seemed to recall getting a glimpse of him the other day but had decided against outright talking to him (what with preferring to keep to herself, Emma wasn't particularly into the "getting to know you well" part of the job. As long as they managed to work together and get the damn thing done, it was enough in her books, no need to go and make friendship bracelets and bond over movie and food preferences with everyone she met).

"Hey you, Pan is it? Have a minute to spare?"

She must have startled him, given how his head snapped up and Emma had to repeat the question before Pan pushed his chair back and came over, hands on the desk and leaning over Elsa's shoulder slightly as he took in the open program. "Want a hand tracking where the sound came from? I can-"

"We need you to pull up whatever you have on a possible codename, Hearts." Emma interrupted, pointing to printed record of Humbert's conversation as she gave him a copy. "It might be nothing but it's the only lead that we've got for now. Anything you can find would be a help."

"Right on to it then."

Now Emma considered herself quite the resourceful agent –give her a gun, she'd know how to use it, give her a locked door and ten minutes later her own witty self would very likely have made it to the other side, have her meet up with a suspect in a luxurious restaurant and she would likely be able to talk him into revealing information she was after, but _Pan_ , well Pan was something else entirely. As she nervously watched him typing away, unconsciously tapping her fingers the back of his chair in a poor attempt to relieve the stress, Emma watched intently as Pan alternated between scrutinizing his screen with a deep frown and glaring at his keyboard, as if blaming it for not getting him the results he was after. It was bearable for the first few minutes, but when as green light scanning the CIA's files kept flashing on the screen as it still had not come up with anything, she found herself unconsciously biting her bottom lip and fisting her shaking hand to stop the tremors _–their first lead and nothing was coming up! Dammit!_

Pan had yet to say something himself since he'd leaned forward on his elbows (so close to his screen that Emma was honestly wondered how he was able to read anything), eyes firmly locked on his monitor, and Emma had been about to suggest that he might want to sit back down for a moment or even suggest digging around for more information and trying the database again if they found something that might narrow their search down when her phone buzzed in her jeans pocket, nearly making her jump.

Awkwardly pulling out, she quickly checked the caller's ID _–Jones, would you fancy that-_ before effectively answering.

" _Swan. Need anything?"_ Had it not been for the previous tension, Emma might have noticed her clipped tone and done something but not now.

" _Thought I'd give you a call, wanted to know if you missed me by any chance, what with leaving me in an empty apartment this morning and all-"_ Emma rolled her eyes, the guy _really_ had a penchant to be over-dramatic, which she could do without when on the hunt for a potential terrorist group on the loose.

"Yeah well I'm going to have to cut you there spy-boy, I don't get overly attached to one-day acquaintances I'm afraid. And I wanted to come in early, had something I put Elsa on to yesterday that I wanted to look into."

" _You got something out of that tape recording?"_

"Pan's looking into a possible codename we picked up, called Hearts, although I haven't heard back from him yet. In the meantime though, I'd need you to take a detour before coming in. Think you can drop by Asset Queen? Name's Mills, lives on 56 Stayman Avenue, big white house. You won't miss it."

A moment's pause and- _"Sure, I'll see what I can get out of her."_

"Oh, and pick up a packet of donuts on your way in, I have a feeling we'll be needing the sugar rush." Emma added before hanging up.

She refused to acknowledge the small smile on her face when putting the phone down.

* * *

 _You have arrived at-_

Killian cut the GPS short as he turned off the car engine and let it cool for a moment after pulling up what he could only describe as one luxurious entrance. Pristine lush garden, an almost gleaming sheen of white paint coating the walls and a freshly varnished front door made the whole place look extremely lavish, or at the very least it was a far cry from what he'd known for a good chunk of his childhood. He and Liam had never known something quite so opulent, that was certain.

Making sure to check the name on the copper-colored flap of the family letterbox – _Hood, seemed like the right place-_ he quickly made it to the front door and gave the bell a ring, hoping for their asset to indeed be there, for neither he nor Emma had actually thought to ring her beforehand. Impromptu visits certainly weren't what he had the most fond memory of, some of MI5's partners being quite the handful to deal with when deciding to be difficult to work with, but with the severity of the case on hand, there had been little choice. It was either him or Swan, and after letting her chose Killian ended up being the one saddled with the responsibility to make his way down to Stayman Avenue by his lonesome.

It was a man that opened the door to him, hair slightly disgruntled, large shadows under his eyes, and if Killian didn't know better, he'd probably bet that the guy wasn't long out of bed and that he must have interrupted him in getting a much needed dose of coffee ready or buttering a few slices of warm toast.

"Can I help you?" Yeah, that was definitely sleep he could hear laced with the words.

"Ah aye, does someone called Regina live here?"

The immediate frown and the whole taking a step back business it got him in return was enough proof to him that their asset Queen _did_ indeed live here, the man not very good at the whole _don't let it show on your face_ business, but Killian wasn't here to conduct an interrogation and force it out of the man. Him being slightly suspicious at a stranger asking after his wife was quite understandable, after all.

"Has she done something wrong?" His brow creased with worry as he begun to pull the door back towards him, as if hoping to be able to shut it should things go south –Killian had had enough experience out in the field back in the UK to quickly notice peoples' skittish behavior, most days it was rather necessary for the job when trying to judge theirs suspects responses. And Hood was quite the nervous man. Might as well put him at ease right from the get-go then.

"No, don't worry mate, I'm just here to talk. You're all fine." And if the words still weren't enough to convince him, at least putting both hands up in a placating gesture seemed to do the trick, as Hood instantly let his shoulders sag a little and let out one big relieved sigh as he opened the door again.

Nodding, the man had been about to take a step back and probably go look for his wife when a woman's head popped around the door of their living-room, dark hair falling over her shoulder.

"Robin? Everything all-right?" She asked, looking at him slightly wearily as she made her way over, eyes attempting to look over his shoulder several times as she did so.

"I don't know, there's someone here for you, looks like the police or something."

Getting a better look over her partner's shoulder, Regina took a moment to look the guy up, still not sensing anything familiar about him until she spotted the design of the file he had in his hands, one she'd known quite well in her former years working under one David Nolan –CIA files, _must be one of his people then._ Well, she needn't worry about him then.

"It's okay Robin, I'll take it from here. Why don't you go back to Roland? We're probably going to be at this for a while at least." She offered, letting the man in while trying to usher her husband away, knowing it would be for the best that he not hear anything of this lest she wished to put him at risk. And Regina knew she couldn't do that when in the very next room was a four year-old boy who needed a father.

"And you are?" She stopped him, hand on his chest, unwilling to let him in any further without proof that she should be letting him in to her own home. The last few days had definitely made her weary of strangers, given her association to the CIA and the very direct link she had with Agent Humbert. She wasn't about to let her husband and child get anywhere near such nasty business.

"Agent Jones, part of the MI-5 contingency. Seems this case involves us too on some level."

Nodding as he offered her his personal badge as proof –Regina would rather be safe than sorry, especially where Underworld and the unsavory people part of such a group were concerned- she lead him into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for him as an invitation to sit down, immediately following suit when he declined her offer for coffee and instead got straight down to business as he opened the file, the familiar records of Graham Humbert at the top of the pile making her feel queasy. Regina had a feeling she was _not_ going to enjoy this.

"This is about the Humbert case isn't it?" She cut straight to the point, knowing dallying around the subject would simply be a waste of both their time.

"Aye, from what Nolan told us, you were the one who kept contact with him, his handler so to speak?" At her nod, he continued on. "There's a team looking into the phone recording as we speak, trying to get any background sounds or voices that could give us a clue on Underworld's possible whereabouts, see if we can't get a lead from that. But with one of Nolan's agents and our technician, we managed to single out one name out of the whole thing, thought it might be a clue, and since you were the one who kept most in contact with Humbert, we thought he might have sent pieces of info to you. Does the codename _Hearts_ ring any sort of bell?"

Regina pondered on it for a moment. Hearts was definitely what the panicked agent had said when she'd received his call _–even remembering the whole damn conversation made her shudder-_ and although Regina prided herself with having an excellent memory even after quitting the service, she unfortunately could not for the life of her remember coming across the name during her time in the service.

"Can't say I recall it I'm afraid. I've only kept very brief contact with Nolan very the past few years, asked him not to let me into anything particularly explicit because it might put my kid at risk, I can't let anything happen to Roland, or Robin for that matter." She cast a worried glance to the living room, where Robin seemed to be pacing around, no doubt worried at what exactly was going on. And while Regina wished she could just go to him and tell him everything, knowledge of what potential harm could befall her husband kept her rooted to the chair.

"Are you sure he didn't let something out? Maybe coded language as to where exactly Underworld are located or something?" Killian pressed, leaning over slightly. This was always the nasty part about dealing with assets, you had the unpleasant part of pushing them for information when they were (understandably) reluctant to let it out. But this phone call was the _only_ substantial lead they had so far, they needed to milk it for all that it was worth, and if Queen knew any tidbit of information, he would rather have it and it turn out to be useful than have her keep something potentially important from them, even if it meant forcing her hand a little.

Regina shook her head, honestly unable to recall anything more specific than what she'd already told Nolan. "Not really. The line was very unstable –kept cutting here and there and wherever he was when he called, the background noise definitely wasn't helping. He was too panicked to even get a complete sentence out anyway –young agent, probably in over his head too, unfortunately." She commented, regretfully. "He did mention that Underworld were definitely onto him though, they knew about him before he'd even arrived, so either they were listening into his conversations or someone must have sold him out. That's my guess at least." Regina shrugged, really not wishing to delve any deeper into this. She'd tried to come up with her own hypothesis for a short while, but chose not to let Nolan in on any of her speculations –the man had enough to deal with as it was, needless theories with very little basis wouldn't help-but it really was the only explanation she got out of it. Someone had been on to Humbert's case from the start, and now that that bit of speculation was in the capable hands of the CIA, she really didn't want to be involved any further. Roland and Robin weren't worth the risk.

"Aye, that's what Nolan said." _Damn it,_ they really were opening a bloody can of worms, weren't they?

Catching a glimpse of the troubled woman, and having little doubts that her equally worried husband was restlessly pacing up and down the room next to them, Killian judged it would probably for the best if he called it a day. Queen herself had very little to go on anyway, and he would rather not push her for information when doing so might make her panic and divulge something false. Nolan had her phone number anyway, he and Swan could always call in sometime in the future if ever they needed her.

And when sending a quick glance down at his watch informed him that he'd spent much longer here than he initially should have, Killian quickly gathered up the spread out papers, carefully putting them back in the folder before getting up and fishing out a pen and piece of paper form his pocket.

"Thanks' for the extra info, we'll be sure to look into it with the rest of the team, at least have our technician look in to Hearts." And after scribbling the numbers, he handed it over to her. "If ever you remember anything else, you can give us a call. We'll be sure to keep in touch and not let anything happen to you or the family."

That seemed to do the trick, as Queen's shoulders immediately slacked and she cast a relieved glace back to the living room, where her husband and child –now a lot safer than they were a minute ago, in her eyes at least- were casually playing together, completely unaware of their troubles. The less they involved potential civilian casualties, the better, Nolan and Mills has wanted to keep it to a minimum anyway.

"Thank you." She added, as she lead him to the door, clutching the piece of paper in her right hand. "I guess Nolan's the one I should keep contact with?"

"Aye. Stick to what you know, right?" He suggested, offering her his hand. "Take care." He added, before heading back to the car and dumping the file on the passenger seat next to him.

He'd barely turned the keys to let the engine warm up when his phone buzzed beneath the paperwork on the passenger seat to his right, and any hopes of it being a somewhat fruitful message on their investigation turned to ashes when Killian swiped the screen and Pan's short message popped up:

 _Looked into Hearts in our database, but there's really nothing much apart from some suspected involvement with drug related gangs. Still searching for any extra tidbits though._

At this point, it was a wonder that they were even aware of Underworld in the first place, because apart from the two casualties –Cassidy and Humbert- the group was making damn sure to minutely hide the slightest hint of their existence, and tracking a ghost cell was going to be near impossible unless they were graced by a sudden stroke of luck soon. Otherwise, Mills and Nolan could kiss their chances of catching them goodbye, and Killian was just about sure to miss out on Liam's short stay once he disembarked from Dún Laoghaire for sure. Oh he'd definitely see him sometime during the year, it was just upsetting that he'd simply have to wait longer.

Damn was this turning into a nightmare. Looking on the bright side though, he still had Swan's donuts to pick up, and Killian mused that that had to count for something.

* * *

For all of his and Elsa's many conversations despairing on the less-than-easy roads to drive around in London, Killian had to admit that it's really was nothing when compared to Fairfax, because _this_ was a bloody nightmare. He'd barely managed to pick up odds and ends for dinner and when he finally shut the door to the safe house shared with Swan finally and leaned on it heavily, he was rather relieved to finally be out of the traffic's incessant noise _–poor Swan, having to deal with this all the time can't possibly be easy._

She was obviously still on the Grid, for there was no sign of her being home yet, and strangely enough, the whole place felt rather empty without her being there. Killian knew better than to expect anything much from the CIA in terms of housing (the few temporary places he'd shared with colleagues back in England hadn't been much better, why would their American cousins be any different?), and judging by the baby steps they were going to take in resolving this whole affair, he and Swan were probably going to be here for a while, might as well try and turn it into a temporary home then.

Ad a temporary home meant home meals, which, If he couldn't just pick them up in the local shop, Killian guessed he'd just have to make them up from scratch.

Hopefully Swan liked fish.

* * *

The smell was the first thing Emma noticed when she closed the door behind her, leaning her exhausted body against it just for a moment –felt good, getting rid of the day's stress for a while, and she would have gladly stayed like that for longer had her stomach not rumbled, expressing its displeasure at not having had anything substantial in the last couple of hours.

"Swan? That you?"

"Yeah." Emma made it to the kitchen, putting the pile of files on the table and setting her leather jacket on the chair after shrugging out of it. "What exactly _are_ you doing?" She asked, one eyebrow raised, trying to peer over his shoulder as Jones filled up the plates.

"What does it look like? Dinner." That was much too cheerful a tone for Emma, and she quickly gathered why when she looked down right next to her paperwork –homemade fish and chips? _"Are you serious?"_ She almost laughed, almost, but Emma had manners, and laughing probably wouldn't be seen as kind, especially when the guy had gone to the trouble of making dinner for the both of them when he could just as easily have picked up a back of Chinese or something. She knew the Brits liked their fish and chips, but this was taking it to a whole new level.

"Well I'm afraid it's not exactly authentic, but it's hot. And probably nice too, unless you let it get cold, so I suggest you dig in." Damn that stupid grin, he was proud of himself, wasn't he? Emma conceded when he handed her the cutlery, guessing there was little else for her to do than eat it –at least it would make one of them happy.

And truth was, Emma had to admit that it wasn't half bad –maybe not as nice as a genuine take-away, but it was definitely something her starving stomach most welcomed.

"So… How did you end up in the service anyway?"

Emma had been so focused on chasing after every scrap she could find on her plate that she didn't even register the question at first. It was only when she felt the silence hang between them and spared a glance towards Jones to see him looking at her almost expectantly that she realized he must have asked her something.

"Come again?" She offered between two mouthfuls _–damn, this was really nice._

"How did you get into the service anyway?" He tilted his head, Emma noticing the lines of curiosity stretches upon his face, and it was only when the question hit home that her jaw froze. _He was after personal information._ " Forgive me if I sound blunt, but you don't exactly look like the agent type."

 _Neither do you._ Emma felt like biting back, wipe that all-too-polite smile off his damn face and show him a thing or two that might just make him rethink his previous assessment.

She certainly wasn't about let him in on how exactly she'd ended up working for Nolan –her time as a more or less illegal tradesperson wasn't a part of her past she was particularly proud of, but Emma would be the first one to concede that it had been something of a necessary evil in her life. Clients paid her good money to get a package from point A to point B, and as long as they deliver on their payment, Emma had never judged it necessary to know what exactly it was she was transporting. It had been a means to get by before having one of those "crisis of consciousness", as one would say it.

Her decision to enroll into the CIA had really been on a whim, Emma hadn't really thought it through at the time, but with patience and effort, she'd managed to make a small name for herself, and Nolan had taken her as his own agent on her head of section, Ingrid's advice-she still had to find a way to repay the lovely woman for that, by the way.

"I guess you could call it… A change of heart, of sorts." She answered, cryptically. Good, it would get him to ponder on it for a while at least, he wouldn't be back asking for more about herself. More Emma definitely wasn't inclined to share at the moment. "After that, simply worked my way up to where I am now." She added, not without a hint of pride –for Emma could confidently say that she did indeed take pride in both her job and in her efficiency at doing it. And that wasn't something Jones was about to change.

"And you?" _Bounce the question back to him, it'll deflect from drawing attention to yourself._ "You? Don't sound like Mills or Frost either I've gotta add."

At least Jones had the decency to smile –no hurt feelings then.

"'Matter of fact, I'm not. Let's say I fit in the oversea colleague –Elsa's words, not mine- I'm from county Wicklow, but making a life for yourself there… Not the easiest, unless you're aiming to raise sheep for the rest of your life. I moved over to London after getting the job, got paired up with Elsa after a year or two and we've been a sort of team ever since. You got any mates in this whole business?"

 _Well, that explained the accent business then,_ Emma reflected as she nodded. Nice to know Nolan had managed to pair two outsiders together for this too, life never ceased to be ironic, did it?

Well, at least this outsider had close friends (Emma had seen him and Frost out of the corner of her eye. Perhaps they weren't best friends like what one would grow up with in primary school, but she'd gathered a sense of camaraderie lingering around the pair. Made her wish she could say the same for herself, but closed-off Emma Swan was known to not let anyone in, and it was as she said the words that she realized –with a sudden pang- that that included potential friends), that was nice to know – _lucky bastard._

"Nothing worth noting outside the usual CIA procedures and training." She answered curtly, and, being an expert at building walls around herself in the blink of an eye, Emma shut herself off by digging into the chips, rather glad when Jones caught on to the queue and didn't pry any further. She guessed that she could give him that, at least.

Or so she thought.

"So you're telling me that an orphan ending up working for the CIA isn't a story worth telling?"

Emma felt the chip slide out of her numb fingers.

 _The bastard. How-?_

Almost reflexively Emma inched back towards the edge of the couch, ignoring his hand reaching out for her in a silent plea to make things right and apologize at the same time. This was getting way to personal, and she needed out, _now_.

Not thinking twice, Emma swiftly got back to her feet, picking up the empty wrapper and ignoring another _Swan, please. I'm sorry._ Maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was the added stress of having to live with a near stranger, maybe it was the personal jab –ort Hell, maybe it was all of it put together but Emma was exhausted, and reigning in her temper was definitely not her top priority right now.

"Look." She said, turning around sharply. "Right now, you and me, we're just colleagues working on this mess together. As soon as it's over, we're out of each others' lives forever. I don't think I need to know about you nor you about me for us to do this successfully, so until we get to the bottom of the crisis, I'd rather you not bring this up again. All right?"

She didn't wait for an answer and instead made a beeline to her own room –thank god they slept separately- mind reeling as she did so. How Jones had managed to read her so well when they'd only met a few days ago she wasn't too sure, but if that conversation had made anything clear, it was that Emma definitely needed to keep her guard up around him. They were colleagues, that was it, and it would never amount to anything more. And Emma would very much rather it remain so.


	6. Testing The Waters

**After a month's absence here's the next part! :)**

* * *

Back on the grid the next day, whatever half attempt at some sort of camaraderie either had made yesterday was gone, as Emma and Killian went back to simply being co-workers. She'd initially argued that it would be the best they could hope to achieve between them, and given his prying questions last night, Emma certainly wasn't feeling like making much of an effort to change anything. Especially since getting any closer meant that the possibility of engaging in such a conversation again would suddenly become a very real possibility, one that she wasn't sure she'd be able to find a convincing excuse to evade. Erecting a wall of sorts between them was the easiest and safest thing to do for now, at least from her standpoint, it meant that they could still work on digging up more stuff on Underworld without all of the unpleasant friendly chit-chat, which is what Mills and Nolan had hired them for in the first place anyway.

However, as she impatiently tapped her fingers on the well-used coffee machine, still waiting for it to fill up her paper mug, Emma pondered a little on what had happened last night, and _did_ find herself feeling a little remorse for cutting Jones off like that and then stalk off to her room with no explanation whatsoever, that had probably been taking the whole thing a little too far on her part. It wasn't as if the guy had done anything truly harmful to her (he _had_ simply asked a question) but Emma remembered the moment when she'd realized he'd begun to weasel his way into her good books –or at the very least, when she thought she'd seen something more to the easy-going spy Nolan had introduced her to hours before- and realizing that he'd somehow managed to see past the layers of armor her job provided for her, the fact that he'd been able to actually _get_ her and seemed to understand the person she was beneath the CIA profile –Hell, that they maybe even had something in common- _that_ had sent the alarm bells off.

Emma took a certain amount of pride from the fact that she was not an easy woman to read, that this profile of a hard-working agent dedicated to her job and never one to let anyone in had been something she'd managed to uphold all from her training days to the actual thing out in the field. Agents didn't need to get personal and all heart-on-their-sleeve with their colleagues (that was all TV show nonsense that Emma usually couldn't be bothered to watch anyway), she'd always worked like that and it always seemed to have pulled off until now. So Jones waltzing in and actually understanding her as _Emma Swan_ and not "the American colleague", that had sent the alarm bells off and the short-tempered snappish tone she'd given him earlier. It was much easier to fight back than to open up, it was safer and it was what she'd always known to do, and Emma was pretty sure it wasn't a few weeks collaborating with a Brit associate that would change that.

Still, glancing down at her steaming paper cup, she did feel a little remorseful for giving him the cold shoulder last night and hoped that she might be able to mend the bridge so to say without having to open up to him. Maybe a nice hot take-away kebab or some grilled-cheese sandwich from the local shop would do the trick.

Instead of heading to her own desk, Emma made a beeline for Pan's, one of the analysts form the associated British team, and judging by the dark rings under his eyes and the empty coffee cups scattered around him workspace, he'd probably been sitting in front of the too-bright monitor screen all night looking though Humbert's complete list of contacts and records of his calls over the past few months, hoping something leading to Underworld might pop up.

"Anything noteworthy popping up then?" She asked casually, sitting down on the corner of the desk.

"Not much unfortunately." The blond sighed as he rubbed his eyes, "He seems to have kept close contact with your Agent Queen given that she's the name that comes back the most in the list but beyond that… I've looked into the profiles of several names that happened to feature on the list, and bar some low-key unsavory people, they're locals, nothing remotely like what we're hunting for. Did you get anything form Queen yourself?"

"Not that I know of, no." Emma answered after a moment. "Jones hasn't really briefed me on what exactly went down when he met the woman, only that she wished to be involved as little as possible in all this. You know, family and all." Not that Emma didn't understand where Queen was probably coming from. While having a real family certainly wasn't something she was particularly familiar with, she could guess it was probably something one would deem precious, and certainly not something one would want to endanger by helping a former CIA boss or put on the line because of an agent pressuring them into giving up information. They would simply have to do with what little they had to go on, then.

"Well, do you know where he was calling from?" Frost asked from behind her desk as she pushed her chair back and headed over to them, leaning over Pan's shoulder to take a peek at his monitor screen.

"Well, we haven't exactly looked yet, but if you give me a minute-" The younger agent offered, hands flying back to his keyboard and furiously typing away in another opened program Emma could only guess had something to do with geo-localization- not that she really understood the intricacies of spyware tracking programs as it was never her field of expertise not something she'd ever wished to pursue as a job.

"Killian isn't with you?"

Elsa had to ask it twice before Emma actually registered that the older woman was talking to her, and when she did, all of last night's frustration she'd initially thought she'd dealt with seemed to resurface. In a sense, she was relieved that Jones hadn't made it back yet, for while she did feel guilty, the part of her still upset at him for his callous words last night still seemed intent to hold a grudge against him, meaning she was not too sure whether she was ready for the I'm-sorry-please-let-me-apologize talk that was bound to happen sometime soon.

"No, he sent me a text message about going out for teabags this morning or something, I got it when I woke up. Said he'd come-"

"Found anything, Swan?"

 _Well, speak of the Devil, just my luck._

The distinct accented voice made Emma's shoulders sag in defeat, knowing she wasn't really ready for this working-in-partnership thing Mills and Nolan wanted them to do. She'd initially thought she'd have a little more time to herself, gather a little more information and have something to talk to him about if need be but… _Guess, he came straight to the Grid after all._ Sparing a glance towards him, she was relieved when she noticed that any of her apprehensions of Jones possibly holding a grudge towards her because of last night were needless, the happy-go-lucky grin already plastered on his face as he sat on the other side of Pan's desk with natural ease, quickly glancing towards the screen to catch up on what he'd missed.

Emma noticed he did keep his distance from her though, so maybe Jones had taken into consideration what she'd said the other day about boundaries she didn't want to cross and all that after all. While it might not have been much to anybody else, she was strangely grateful for it.

"Well, I haven't been here too long so-"

"Got it!" Elsa triumphantly exclaimed as she looked back up at her, finger pointing to the monitor screen where a little _"match found"_ box had popped up over one of the many maps open in her tabs. "Agent Humbert was calling from this place right here," she fingered a circle over the search result on the map, " _Ursula's Lair_ is what I'm getting the place is called, a renowned drug and other shady dealings place. With a little luck, we might find more traces of our guys at the location itself, and we could hide bugs there just in case Underworld decide to come back there in the future."

Well, a lair didn't seem to be particularly appealing in Emma's books, but if scouting the place out was the first step in getting actual concrete information she was ready to take a shot at it. Besides, it would always be better than being stuck on the grid looking through the report or phone call transcript for the hundredth time, vainly hoping for some clue she might have previously missed to magically show up.

"All right, I'll give Nolan a call, see if he'll give us the green light for this. You-" Emma said, pointing to Jones, you go grab a pair of guns, two comms and a set of car keys. I'll meet you on the parking lot in five minutes."

And without a protest, everybody set to work, Jones and Elsa rummaging through her desk drawer in search of a functioning communication device as Emma made straight for her superior's office, butterflies in her stomach at the thought of finally being out in the field and getting to snoop around for some concrete information. _This better be good._

* * *

The roaring of the engine made Emma infinitely more aware of just how awkward the silence between the pair of them was. Her hands had been clutching the steering wheel for a good ten minutes now, and not a meaningful word had past either of their lips since her half answer about the extra information (and even at that, Elsa had answered for her, so Emma figures it didn't really count). She'd been kidding herself at first, arguing that perhaps Jones simply had nothing to tell her or was of a quiet mood all of a sudden, but as Emma kept pushing away the silly excuses and came to the only reasonable one left –that she had pushed him away and probably owed him an apology- she realized that she probably should have done so earlier, her pride and silly make-up meals be damned, because this was getting really uncomfortable and was (mostly) her doing anyway.

 _Come on, Emma, deep breath. How hard can saying sorry be?_

Except that it _wasn't_ that easy, because she still felt like she had a good reason behind callously shutting him out. Jones had overstepped what Emma would have considered a personal boundary, he'd managed to pull out something very personal from her without her even letting him in, and that had scared her. Her apologizing now would also mean that she accepted that, that he could read and understand her without her even thinking he was doing so or even thinking she was letting anything slip through in the first place. And that was the scary part, not the words in themselves but the meaning behind them.

 _Still, that doesn't excuse you being rude, does it?_

"Listen, about last night… I-" She hesitantly tried, focusing on the road ahead probably more than she should, but if it would make it easier have something to distract her slightly, Emma wasn't going to say no.

"No, don't apologize, Swan." _Wow, that was a fast rebuttal._ "If you felt the need to walk off on the spot, then it was probably the right thing to do. And I should probably be the one apologizing for being callous. It wasn't my place to make such a comment."

Well, whatever Emma had thought she'd be gaining out of this conversation, it definitely wasn't this. She'd been _right_ to shut him down?

"No, I-I guess I mean the way I talked to you. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"And I shouldn't have overstepped any boundaries." He admitted, and a glance in the rear-view mirror made it seem like he was genuinely sorry for it, no cocky smile or raised eyebrow to be seen whatsoever. "I won't do it again."

Emma nodded, eyes back on the road as silence filled the car once again, but not the uncomfortable type like when she'd initially drove off where neither one had dared to look so much as catch a glance of each other in the mirror or even breathe too loudly. While she had no doubt that there was still a lot left unsaid between them on both parts, the atmosphere now felt more companionable more –dare she say it- _friendly_ and as she relaxed into the seat, Emma seized the moment hoping she wouldn't regret it later and took the chance to strike up an actual conversation. _If we're going to work together, guess I might as well get used to this._

"So, what do you think of America so far?" Thank God it didn't sound awkward or forced, and while Emma knew it probably wasn't the most interesting of subjects to talk about (and Jones would probably get her whole deflecting-with-something-else thing) but it came as a surprise when Emma found that she was actually interested in knowing what he had to say on the matter, that she _wanted_ to know more about what this was for him without getting into the personal territory. Besides, if he asked why, she could always answer that it might be useful to know about one's colleagues interests just in case.

Indeed, Killian wasn't stupid, he knew deflection when he saw it but knew he would rather they have a friendly conversation than have Swan close-off from him (and she seemed pretty good at that). If she wanted to play that game, he couldn't see any harm in joining in, and perhaps, with a little luck, she might come out of her own shell a little. There really was nothing to be afraid of.

"Different."

"Really? Not any of the "too busy to even get around in", "buildings twice higher than at home" or "life is too expensive"? Just _different?_ Emma raised an eyebrow, hoping it would prompt him to come back at her with some of the snark she'd seen him use on the first evening. At least she could hold her own in that kind of banter.

And "different" felt kind of underwhelming as an answer if she were honest, especially from a bloke who seemed to enjoy employing as many grand words and turns of phrases as possible.

Emma had had the opportunity to work with a few foreign correspondents before –never to the extent of this case, usually it was over the phone or a quick meeting, not the actual living together and having her partner try to get her to tell them her deepest and darkest secrets or anything like that- mainly with the friends the CIA had over at the French DGSE and the Russian KGB, but the few who had had to fly over and with whom she'd talked about the country had never come up with the States being _different_ from home. Usually they would stay pretty close to working natters like what seawares the CIA used or what type of weapons did American agents tend to use on the field, sometimes they would even get into a conversation about which ones they deemed better (and Emma wasn't the best at arguing her case, but it as it was never the heart of the matter she didn't think to lowly of that). Occasionally, the foreigners would marvel at the food they came across or ask which soccer team she would be rooting for during the next championships if they had a moment to chat. They never compared lifestyles and grander scale things though.

So hearing that being in the States could be summed up in "different" was a new one for sure.

But maybe it was simply Jones being a cocky bastard though, he seemed to like playing that card with her.

"Well it certainly isn't like anything back home. I can't even believe I'm going to be missing my weekly episodes of _This is England_ and dose of digestives because I'm here, and knowing Meg, she's going to spoil me everything when I get back" He lamented, and it was the most unconvincing sad face Emma had seen since that witness they'd had in interrogation room claiming he hadn't had anything to do with the murder she was investigating when he still had blood in the cuff of his sleeve.

"Back on track spy-boy, I meant CIA, you know, intelligence service. Do you guys treat the same matters at MI-5 or is this completely new stuff?"

"Depends on what section of the service you're affected to. Elsa and me, we're in Five, which, to make a long story short, boils down to the anti-terrorist department. Usually we deal with local things like digging up small local terrorist cells in the country although bringing down any financial vultures prying on the economy and bomb diffusing can happen sometimes too. This isn't something we usually deal with, but Mills seems to have common interests with your boss with the group."

"Yeah, Cassidy, I heard about what happened to him." Emma said grimly, hoping the same fate wouldn't befall them. If anything that photo of Humbert, which was likely the fate that had been befallen the other Brit, was not something Emma particularly wanted to experience, and it meant that Underworld, whoever they were, meant business and were not to be taken lightly. "What do you think of this whole affair anyway?" She added as she turned the wheel, swerving to the right and taking the exit as she followed the GPS's instructions.

"Well, they're been good at hiding their tracks, that's for sure. Mills has been after them for years and even now, I don't think she's sure she's going to get her hands on them at all. Seems like we've gotten ourselves in a right mess, doesn't it, Swan?"

"If we've only got the recording and what Queen told you, yeah, I think we're going to have our hands full with this for a while at least. Goodbye any hopes of being home for anything important."

"Well, with a bit of luck, we might find something." Jones said as he pointed to her left, "That's the place right there."

Well, it didn't look like much, Emma conceded as she stopped the car, it certainly wasn't the busy night club she'd been expecting. As a matter of fact, it wasn't a club at all, just an ordinary house like one would expect to find on any street which certainly helped to cover up anything suspect going on inside.

"All right, keep your gun in hand just in case, who knows what's in there." Emma advised as she closed the door behind her, hand already inching for hers as the pair approached the house.

There wasn't any name to it, so she guessed Ursula's Lair was simply what people had chosen to dub the place of their own accord, for it certainly didn't belong to anybody, not in the state it was –old cracked paint, shattered grimy windows on the first floor and the ones on the ground floor had some dingy half cracked shutters that didn't seem to fully close, probably safe to assume the place was deserted.

As she rummaged through the small bag Elsa had handed her over along with the comms before they'd headed out, Emma pulled the silver torch out just as Jones started to get a little frustrated with the door.

"Looks like it's locked, thing won't even budge."

"Let me take a look." She offered, grinning as she recognized the old trick to keep unwanted visitors out. While the hairpin she was used to seeing used on TV very rarely worked, Emma had her way of doing things, and with a little fiddling, a few curses here and there and a little shove, the door eventually creaked open

"Well I certainly hadn't pinned you for a James bond type, nice move."

"Comes with the practice." Emma switched the light on as she led the way, stepping over the threshold and into the dark and dusty entrance hall.

"Really? Ex outlaw then? Don't look it."

She sighed, really not wanting to have to deal with this right now but at the same time, a little comforted by the fact that Jones seemed to be taking this lightly (not that she thought that a good thing, being an agent meant always being on your guard), but if he could let his down and joke a little, then maybe she could take a moment too.

"Here." She offered as she handed him over the torch before fiddling with the lock again. "Since your good looks don't seem to harbor convenient skills we might be needing, take this instead, might be of some use to us."

"So you do agree that I have good looks then?"

Emma could only roll her eyes and let the creak of the opening door answer in her stead.

"Well, this doesn't look very inviting." He commented off handedly as she let him take the first step inside, torch highlighting one very old and crass inside.

"Well, this _is_ a place where less than savory activities going on at night and not a five star hotel, Jones, it's probably easier to keep a low profile in here anyway."

"Well when you put it that way…"

Emma let him take the lead, careful to cast an occasional glance backwards just in case someone had decided to follow them as they went deeper and deeper inside. The air was foul, and she only barely managed to retain herself from coughing when the thought of someone possibly hiding out on the upper floor and the danger they might represent to them popped up in her head.

There truly wasn't much to see, to her disappointment, only a broken mirror in the hallway, and empty kitchen with only turning up a dead mouse as they both rummaged through the various presses and one small living room to their right. Deciding he could probably scout that out by himself and rather pressed to be alone for a while, Emma thought they might cover up more ground quicker if they separated, it's not as if anything bad would happen to them in this place.

"Why don't you take the ground floor, I'll go take a look upstairs." She offered as she took a step backwards towards the hall.

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I'll give you a call if ever anything goes wrong." Brushing off the concern was the easiest thing to do, and as climbed the stairs, Emma was pretty sure she'd only imagined the _be careful_ anyway, no way was Jones the concerned type, way too laid-back for that.

The upper level didn't really look any more inviting what with the dark corridor, moldy decrepit doors and the very dim light coming from the broken window at the far end. For a moment, she wondered how the blokes coming here could even count their money properly with in the dark but eventually came to the conclusion that pretty much anything went. Emma would proudly say that she was no expert in the art of dealing drugs and other similar substances, and the whole trade that had subsequently developed from it was not anything she was (thankfully) remotely familiar with beyond what her job required her to know.

She hated the way her boot kept creaking over the broken glass and debris littering the place (a sign that it was well-used at least, people must have been hanging around here at some point) and she had to hold her breath as she entered the second room because the stench was absolutely revolting. Much like the rest of the place, it was in the most parts, a huge mess: old soggy mattress on rusty springs (the bedroom then) and what was left of a wardrobe to its left. Awkwardly slipping between the two, Emma pulled the sliding door to the side, hoping there might be some semblance of a clue inside, and indeed there was something to be found as the shelf just above her eye level seemed to be harboring a stash of papers.

Setting the torch on the bed, Emma stood on her toes and fumbled around the cubicle until her fingers managed to get a grip on the package and with a little huff of triumph, she set the small pile on the bed and reached for the light again.

Although any bubble of hope that had begun to build in her chest was quick to die out when, after blowing away the dust that had accumulated over the things, it turned out to be something along the kind of old accounts, with drug types and the amount sold, prices and undecipherable signatures here and there. Still, not one to be deterred, Emma chose to see the papers for what they were: that someone had been here, and sliding her right hand in her pocket, she fumbled around for one of the extra comms Elsa had handed her before leaving and set it on the shelf at the edge. At least if there was someone with worthwhile information who happened to drop by when they weren't around, at least they might get a chance to pick up on anything they said.

In the meantime though, Emma guessed she would have to bring this stash back to the grid and hand it over to August so the analyst could work on it, and hopefully pull out a familiar name or signature.

" _Swan!"_

 _Well, looked like Jones might have had a little more luck on his side._

"Coming!" Emma made sure to check that the bug was indeed not visible to the eye as she got off the bed before re-doing the sheets and leaving the place exactly as she'd found it and, after stuffing the records into her bag and whipping out her flashlight again, carefully made her way down the stairs and to the living room her colleague seemed to be calling her form.

"Something popped up?" She asked as she came in, only to find Jones by the window, torch in hand hovering over a pile of newspaper clippings he was awkwardly balancing in the other. "What are those?"

"Found them by the windowsill over there." He pointed to the closed curtains. "The oldest one dates back to a few years ago, around the time Mills had was coordinating Operation Dreamshade with Cassidy."

"You think whoever hung out here had an eye on us from way back in the day?" Emma inquired as he handed her over the top paper. While nothing remotely suspicious made the headline –something about a global warming summit, not exactly what they were looking for- the date at the top did correspond to when Dreamshade had taken place, and while it could all be a coincidence, Emma chose to see it as something they could work on and use as a lead instead.

"Well, judging by the looks of this one, maybe." And as he held it up for her, Emma could make out something related to the Government and some sort of gas related weapon, a project that seemed to have been abandoned as her eyes skimmed over the article.

"Yeah, I suppose we can take them along, look into them back on the Grid and have August dig in deeper, see if he can find the full story.

"Find anything upstairs?" He inquired as he packed the papers in the small backpack they'd brought along, adding the torch to the lot when Emma's one could do just fine for the pair of them.

"No, unless you count a dingy mattress and a few accounts –you know drug and weed related things, stuff the local police force might be interested in but not us."

"Well, looks like we're going to have a field day digging into all of this." Emma said sourly as she pictured them already, three in the morning the next day and twenty cups of coffee littered on the desk, both of them sleeping in front of the monitor until Nolan or someone else would walk in on them and either reprimand them or make it their job to never let them forget it for the next five years (yeah, August would do that, she'd need to keep an eye out for him). Still, this wasn't a _total_ waste of time, Jones had found something for them to look into.

"Don't worry Swan, we'll find something." She barely registered the words when she noticed his hand lingering on her shoulder for a moment, realizing that this was the closest they'd ever been –and was much too close than she'd intended for them to get. Quickly making good on her word, that colleagues merely work together and are not _supposed_ to act like this, Emma brushed past him, fishing her car keys from her front pocket and leaving him to close the door behind them discretely.

"I sure wish I had your optimism, Jones." _Because I've got a feeling we're going to need it._


	7. Paper Thin

**Just dropping this off before heading into uni' finals, hope you enjoy! :)**

* * *

The drive back to the grid was a quiet one, Emma supposing they didn't really have anything substantial worth talking about since their scavenging hadn't yielded much apart from the newspaper clipping, which they had decided to bring back with them for further investigation. Hands now firmly on the steering wheel and the purring engine a noise in the background, Emma was glad that Jones had decided to put a halt to his probing questions, possibly coming to realize that the small talk between them was more awkward than anything else and that it was better to keep communication to a minimum, as he sat quietly beside her, not looking to strike up a conversation. Emma really couldn't say that she wasn't grateful.

She really didn't understand how trivial chit-chat could be of any importance, especially not with near strangers she knew next to nothing about when being well aware just how much information a fellow spy could possibly get her to divulge if she were to not pay attention, and she wasn't quite sure she was ready for all that venturing into personal territory yet. While Jones was shaping out to be a little less obnoxious than she'd initially pinned him as, her ever so slight decrease of annoyance towards him by no means meant that Emma saw him as anything less than a co-worker, he was juts someone she just might be able to tolerate for however long this case dragged on for. Why entertain the mere idea of getting comfortable with him when in eight weeks time they'd never even have to see each other again anyway?

The glass doors hissed as they shut behind them, Emma shrugging off her jacket and all of a sudden incredibly appreciative of the warmth.

Heading over to her own desk, she barely had the coat hung on the back of it when she felt something poke her back, and turned to find Elsa, patiently waiting with what looked to be a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. Emma nodded her thanks as she took the offered beverage, immediately bringing it up to her lips and humming at the warmth – _definitely appreciated, now if she could get her hands on something to eat too, that would be nice._

"I'll see you in the boardroom then?"

The lack of bravado is what Emma noticed in the tone, the utter difference it had compared to his usual laid-back attitude and confidence, and as she looked up to the bunch of papers and files Jones had in his arms (the ones they'd just picked up), she realized she mustn't have answered the first time around.

"Yeah, um, yeah, you can go and set things up, I'll be there shortly."

Her tone definitely lacked in conviction though, for Emma strongly doubted they'd find anything worthwhile while combing through the paperwork –this case was already like looking for a needle in a haystack, why expect any change in that now?- and she would rather set herself up for the worst than vainly hope for a clue they had very little chances of getting their hand son. Underworld had been extremely good at hiding their traces so far, she doubted any organization able to have both the CIA and MI5 in utter chaos would be so careless as to literally offer them information without a price. This snail-paced progress they were making was really making Emma begin to wonder if the whole thing was actually even legit in the first place and that Mills and Nolan weren't perhaps getting their stories mixed up. If Underworld was personally after them, wouldn't they have left more evidence for them to actually be vulnerable and give them an opening to strike again?

 _Well, the photos were real enough,_ she remembered with a shiver, not particularly wanting to lay an eye on them again anytime soon. If those were real and were the way their group had decided to show what they were concretely capable of, by all logic there was no reason to believe Underworld wasn't out there either, and that it was their way of toying with the CIA, have them run around like headless chickens trying to solve a puzzle with practically no pieces in their hands and strike again when they felt like it to throw them into even more disarray.

And if Underworld already knew they were looking into them then all chances were that they were a step ahead of them, that there was a whole heap on info that they knew about that Nolan and Mills still didn't, and any way they had of uncovering new relevant intel could possibly be a trap they would set up on them, for if they had struck at the direct heart of the spy network –meaning the spies themselves- Emma dreaded even imagining what might happen to Jones and herself were they to make a wrong move, which, while she was careful, was still entirely possible given the increasing desperation they were facing at the fact that they still had very little to go on. If recklessly going in for more without covering their tracks or keeping an eye out was to land them in a less than desirable situation, Emma knew she would rather they take their time and do things right than stupidly risk their lives and information they already had, even if it was frustrating.

Her stomach gave an audible growl, clearly uninterested in worrying about terrorists and murders, and as Emma wearily trudged towards their rented car, hand barely able to hold the keys up as she zapped the door open before unceremoniously plopping down inside, the thought of a lovely warm sandwich covered in divine grilled cheese became _quite_ appealing indeed. Well, seemed like Granny's take away it was then. At the very least, maybe things would lighten up a little once they had something substantial in their stomachs.

* * *

"Well, you certainly took your time, Swa-"

The confident smile almost came easier this time around, now that Emma knew what to expect of her partner. It might not have been entirely real given that she strongly doubted that it reached up to her cheeks or anything, but she could say with certainty that it was slightly less strained than the one she'd forced that first night they'd spent together.

She guessed that perhaps it had to do with the fact that it wasn't as "new" as when Nolan had given her the apartment keys and they had both awkwardly entered the place in silence, neither one of them really knowing what to say without sounding awkward. While far was it of her to say with certainty that she'd pinned Jones down, that she could read him and actually _knew_ him like those old iconic double acts she'd seen on many a TV show as a child, it was getting slightly easier (only slightly) to actually _be_ a pair of agents working together.

Jones had laid off asking about her, keeping their conversations matter-of-fact and more often than not they usually came back to the whole Underworld case. Another person might not have been down with keeping on about work related matters once past the threshold of their home, but Emma didn't particularly mind. Their talk, while still centering on their daily agent routine, was more laid back and didn't have any of the upstanding code they generally adopted when working together on the grid. It was a few hours when they could just let go slightly, even make bets on how much more the shadows under Misses Nolan's eyes would grow by the end of the week. As it turned out, she'd been right when guessing they'd have grown quite a bit.

She dropped the brown paper bag in front of him next to the pile of papers they'd picked up from the safe house, hand already digging in and pulling out both their shares. The grilled cheese, she had to admit, smelt heavenly and she already felt her mouth salivate in anticipation as she brought it up for a first bite, definitely appreciating it after the laborious day's work.

"Thought we could do with something for dinner while I was out, given that we're probably going to be here for another while at least." Not one for upstanding manners, Emma didn't particularly care that her mouth was full as she talked between two bites, a hungry stomach vying for her attention definitely took priority over conversational etiquette.

Jones, for his part, certainly didn't look as appreciative as she was as he eyes the food skeptically, keeping the bread at arm's length as if waiting for it to jump up and bite him in the face at any moment, which was utterly ridiculous in Emma's books, Granny's grilled cheese sandwiches were by far _the best_ dinners anyone would find in town, she and August weren't among her most loyal clients for no reason after all.

"What the hell _is_ this?"

"It's food, you eat it." Emma said matter-of-factly as she took another bite not seeing where the problem was. True, it was take-away, probably not the healthiest of diets, but she and August had gotten used to it when the analyst would bring in a bag to share on those nights when they had worked together, trying to pinpoint the type of behavior those drug gang leaders from mere pictures and assessing what was the best way to catch them. While this case was much more different, namely, that they were dealing with something a lot more dangerous than a few tattooed bad boys roaming the empty streets and taking part in less than savory activities, it was still a habit that Emma had gotten into, and given that the shop was just down the road, she guessed that they might as well make the most of it, who knew if they'd even be on the grid or have time to eat something hot tomorrow?

"Anyway, you managed to get a hand on anything while I was out?"

"Not sure yet, I've been looking through a few things, but nothing really substantial seems to be popping up. The only thing I managed to get a hand on that was worth noting was that there seems to be a connection to you Americans and to some odd gas related story, but when I went to look into that, nothing." And Emma guessed Jones must have tried quite a bit, given how he was now rubbing at that sore spot between his eyes, headache probably not far away from squinting at the monitor screen too much. At least the food seemed to be a momentary welcomed distraction given that that hadn't had much of a chance to eat anything much during the day.

Although Emma could understand where the weariness in his voice and the slump in his shoulders were coming from. Her eyes were burning from exhaustion, having been reading up on files and searching for minute details too closely for too long, and the prospects of collapsing onto the bed back at the safe house was certainly shaping up to be a very tempting image. Only, she knew she and Jones likely had a lot more work to do before actually being able to leave, and Emma doubted that those hours would turn up anything valuable. She was very strongly thinking of asking Nolan (or maybe his wife, she might be easier to convince) for an extended vacation in the Bahamas once this was all over.

"None of this has a lick of sense, it's like… It's like Underworld doesn't even exist outside of whatever intel we already have, there's barely any traces of them in the system whatsoever."

"Yeah, the file Mills gave me on Cassidy's and the whole operation Dreamshade certainly didn't yield much in terms of results either, doesn't look like we're going to get very far with these breadcrumbs of information."

"Alright, then let's take this back to the start," Jones suggested as he took a deep and calming breath, which to Emma sounded more like a yawn judging by the dark circles under his eyes, but she wasn't about to comment on it. "Your guy Humbert, he seemed to be pretty mobile, he was actually the one to meet up with the group, right?"

"Yes, but we've tried the place he was calling from before he died already-" Emma interrupted, not really getting why Jones wanted to go back to using Humbert as a basis for their search.

"No, not necessarily from where he was before he died, but given that we have his calls, maybe if Elsa can get a range of the geographic locations he was in we might get a place, right?"

Coming to think of it, it was a route they could go down. Part of Emma was a little skeptic, knowing that a mobile agent like Humbert could have been to quite a few areas before he was killed, but on the other hand, what did they have to lose by doing a search? At the very least, it would give them something a little more concrete than the few bits and pieces they had on paper so far, and it would be better than re-reading the dead man's report for the hundredth time over.

"Yeah, sure. Give me a minute and I'll put Elsa onto it. She's the one with all the computer skills."

The wink was certainly not what Killian had expected as Swan rose up and made for the corridor leading back to the main room, but it was rather nice, how casual it was.

With only a few years under his belt as a field agent, he hadn't had much of an opportunity to make long lasting partnerships with any colleagues back home, Elsa was the main person who'd taken a shine to him and when Mills had noticed that they'd handled a few operations quite well, she'd simply offered them to work in tandem –Elsa from the van, usually directing him and hacking into various computer programs like the professional she was while he was the one running around, guns blazing.

Swan, Swan was certainly different, not an easy one to figure out, but she seemed to be a practical and skilled woman despite obviously having a few truths she was reluctant to share, not that Killian didn't understand, there were a load of things he hadn't told her about himself either, things he didn't particularly think she'd _want_ to know anyway, but it was nice to see that the lack of more personal talk didn't seem to get in the way of them progressing on the case. Although, it would be nice to get to know more about the CIA agent, and it was odd how genuinely curious he was about her.

It was strange, how his usually narrow world, the one centered around himself and Liam –because they had nobody else- was expanding at the fact of meeting someone _like him_ , someone he could understand and someone who could probably read him just as well, which certainly wasn't something Killian had expected when signing up as an agent. How a job demanding one to put their country and values before their lives actually made him feel a connection with a fellow officer sharing the same morals was certainly an odd twist of fate.

He liked Swan – _Emma_ , her name was _Emma_ \- , she was smart, practical, intelligent, resourceful, and it was obvious to him that she hadn't let whatever past she had define her. They hadn't talked about that much, the one time he'd brought it up, he'd understood that it still seemed to be a sore subject for her (and he understood, abandonment, especially by someone supposed to love you, was not an easy thing to deal with or to overcome, not when the child is left wondering day after ay what they did wrong to lose their parent's love) and he doubted he'd get to know any more on what exactly had made her that way, but she was surprisingly pleasant company, when one managed to get under that thick skin, and perhaps, with a little good fortune, he might help her understand that opening up a little wasn't something to be so afraid of.

" _Well that's strange. Can you trace it again?"_

Both Emma and Elsa joined him in the little room, the computer freak closing the door behind her before setting her trusted laptop on the table, beside the extra papers Emma had added to the growing pile.

"You two found something?"

"I'm not sure, Elsa's tracing the call again, just in case we had something wrong but-" And at the little 'bing' sound of the other woman's laptop, Emma flipped it around so the deceive faced him, a little red spot popping up on the map the two of them had running in the background. "That place, it's a local bar, called _Wild Times_ , I remember coming across it a few times in Humbert's report, it was where quite a few of his more recent calls were pinned to. If he was closing in on Underworld, maybe that might be the place to go, at least maybe one of the employees might be able to give us more detail on who he was with if they actually saw him, or we could hack into their security camera footage."

"You think we should give the place a look?"

"I don't know," To be honest, Emma didn't particularly want to have to go scouting a _less than savoury_ establishment, where _less than savoury_ people hung out to participate in _less than savoury_ activities, especially knowing what kind of repugnant atmosphere the local bars were said to have, but if it got them that much closer to finding a clue, it wasn't exactly her place to go passing up on it. "I'd rather we check blueprints and inside footage first, just to get a feel for what exactly we're getting ourselves into, then pass by Nolan and Mills, get their input on this-"

"But she and Nolan requested nobody interrupt them, they're dealing with an unexpected American financial vulture in one of the biggest estate agencies in London right now, Number Ten deemed it urgent." Elsa countered, obviously uneasy with the extra weight on their shoulders at having to handle the case by themselves for a foreseeable while.

 _Damn it, just our luck!_ Emma thought sourly. "Well we'll leave them be for now, try and make do with what we have and hopefully have something new and more concrete for them by the time they manage to settle down that crisis (which will hopefully be soon). I know we really don't have much yet, but if we could just find another substantial lead, maybe they'll be able to help."

"Well what about going for the picture attached to the file?" Killian suggested, not particularly ecstatic at having to have a look at the agent's brutalize corpse again, but it was the best they had given that they had probably milked the call for all it was worth.

"Humbert's body?" Emma shivered, not really wanting to open that up again nor really getting why the Brit wanted to anyway, "What could we possibly need that for?"

"Have we looked at what was on it? If we can lighten it up or sharpen the quality, maybe we might be lucky, find a detail we missed, and given that Elsa's an expert in all of that, I don't really see the harm in giving it a shot?"

"Well, I'll see what I can come up with, give me a few minutes and I'll get back to you."

And just like that, she swerved back on her chair, Emma going back to the open file on the desk beside her and picking up the top sheet of paper there, eyes skimming over it in hopes of finding some kind of detail.

"How are you so sure we'll even find something anyway?" She asked the Brit off-handedly as he sat on the corner of the table, a set of a dozen recoded phone conversations between Queen and Humbert in his hands.

"I don't, you just look like the type who doesn't give up, so I don't see why I should either."

And Killian shrugged at that, as if it was _normal_ that he just understand and go along with her way of thinking. And Emma wasn't too sure how she felt about that, knowing someone was willing to trust her judgment and input on things like this when they barely knew each other, how a mere work colleague could have that much faith in the fact that she would pull this off.

On the one hand, it was terrifying, someone having this much expectations of her, but on the other hand, it was… It made her chest swell, at just how sincere his words felt (and Emma would like to think that she could have noticed it, had he lied, she was good at that), that Killian was being honest with all of this.

And if, to him, she could pull off that, have Jones utterly confident in the fact that they would succeed, then Emma guessed that a little more probing and searching might just do the trick.

Still, it was a lot of faith he was putting on her shoulders, Emma just hoped that she could be up to par and deliver.

"All right then," And with a deep breath, she pulled the file back to her, "So what we _do_ know for certain so far is that Humbert was set to infiltrate this rather unsavory group linked to Underworld, that he mentioned someone obviously high placed codenamed Hearts and called Nolan before he was shot. Nolan then received the photo and the message about Underworld being onto Humbert all along. So, if we go by this logically and Underworld is comprised of mainly scummy individuals, where would you pick a place to hide if you were them?"

"Somewhere crowded obviously," Was the first aspect of a lair Killian could think of, "Somewhere with little chances of being overheard when dealing with the killers themselves, noisy perhaps? So anybody listening in would not have much of an opportunity to fully get what we're talking about, somewhere where nasty business wouldn't stick out, where it would be normal. Are there any drugstores or casinos around? They usually deal with money."

Opening up a new tab and typing in the requested address, Emma enlarged the CIA computer map, waiting a moment for the search to yield results, and sure enough, there were the little red dots popping up. _Bingo!_ Indeed there were a few similar places around, three as a matter of fact, and when searching for the official sites it turned out that one of the places was currently being renovated, which now narrowed their results down to two.

"Arendelle and Wild Times seem to be the big candidates. They both look like inviting enough places to an unsuspecting public, easy to blend in and make quick transactions or relay messages without looking suspicious."

"Any record of either of them having caused trouble for the CIA before? It might make the choice easier and save us some precious time."

"Not a bad idea-" However, Emma should have expected things to get tougher now that they'd landed a result. Neither one of the bars looked particularly suspicious when firth lancing at them, and when investigating deeper into CIA files of old cases yielded next to nothing bar perhaps a few minor incidents (but nothing particularly relevant to the case at hand), she couldn't help but feel a little deflated at their so-far fruitful research seemingly coming to a brutal and unexpected halt for the time being. Underworld really were doing everything they could to leave as few traces as possible or erase the ones already there, making it next to impossible for them to get a grasp on them at all. It was a wonder they had even gotten this far at all with the little they had, when Emma took a moment to think about it. Catching them was going to be a whole other story entirely. How the hell were they going to manage to narrow it down? There were quite a number of nasty places she would dare not set a foot into unless absolutely necessary that she could qualify as a good hideout for terrorist groups, it didn't mean any of them were currently being used by their target.

And in addiction to the sheer scale they had to work with, knowing that Mills and Nolan had no other agents they could spare for this was even worse. Their tem was small, tiny, just herself, Killian, Elsa, Pan and August when he could spare them a moment, that was it, and given that herself and Jones were the only agents qualified to actually go out and scout locations, Emma could already guess that they were going to make progress at a snail pace.

"Well, Wild Times certainly seems to be harboring lots of charming violent brutes." Killian said cynically from beside her, and Emma could already guess the Brit was hoping they'd avoid any confrontation were they to go there. Coming back to the grid with a broken wrist or an injured knee was definitely a setting-back they couldn't afford. But with the year-old newspaper article about a brawl escalating into cold-blooded murder, he was pretty sure that keeping a hand on the gun strapped to his waist at all times would be a safe move.

"At least it lives up to the name, right?" Emma offered half-heartedly. "Think we still ought to give it a try?"

"If we can get our hands on something, I guess it's worth the risk." He conceded, shrugging. At least Emma knew she wasn't going to be going alone, which was a mild reassurance. "At the worst, we can always grab a beer, so we won't be going down there for nothing."

Emma sighed, well at least if he saw something in the whole affair that made it worthwhile… "Sure, just don't come to me when Mills learns that her agents are taking advantage of location scouting to get drunk and not do their job, I'm certainly _not_ covering your arse for that." She winked, and in the heat of the moment, she could almost swear that she was actually enjoying the levity he was trying to offer _(That's certainly new)._

"Well, I'll go and give Mills and Nolan a heads up." She said, leaning out of the chair, stiff legs cracking audibly, making Emma wince. "You don't move, if you do, I'm picking somebody else to tag along!" She called as she past the door.

Emma thought she heard something along the lines of _You better not, Swan!_ But chalked it up to her overtired brain imagining noises that weren't really there.

Well, at the very least, the trek up to Nolan's office wasn't as dreaded as she'd feared it might. They did have some information to offer him on the case's progress (mainly speculation, but perhaps the man could give a little of his own insight into things, open up a few other routes they could potentially go down). If, and only _if_ , he agreed to this Emma was going to make sure to keep an eye on Jones, because God only knew what nonsense he was going to come up with if he were to make light of the situation, and Emma really didn't want to run into any trouble while down there, not when calling in a team to help them would take too long to make their way down and would reflect very poorly on the pair of them. However, it wasn't necessarily Jones' talk and banter she minded anymore, just his slight lack of 'being down-to-earth', which at times, could be quite frustrating. Other than that, things certainly seemed to have been slowly improving somehow.

Not that Emma would ever think of telling him that in person, of course.

Because he certainly wasn't growing on her. No, not at all.


End file.
